


We, So Much Older

by LemonadeGarden



Series: We, So Much Older verse [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Batfamily Feels, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonadeGarden/pseuds/LemonadeGarden
Summary: Selina Kyle doesn't particularly like children. They're too noisy and stupid and they crywaytoo much.Bruce's kids though, they're something else altogether.





	1. Hyperactivity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is very little canon compliance in this. It's based loosely on rebirth, although there will be lots of deviation. I've picked out things here and there that I liked, and left out things I did not. Tim is and always has been alive, for one.  
> Along the line, I also may change the rating from teen to mature, although I'm pretty sure this will be a non-graphic fic. 
> 
> Know all this, and be warned, haha.
> 
> Title's from an R.L. Stevenson poem called Nested Eggs.

The little kid doing somersaults on the top of the new Park avenue tower rooftop is definitely  _ not _ Batman.

“Who are you supposed to be?” She says, pulling her goggles off to get a better look. She frowns. The colour scheme of that leotard makes him look like a watermelon. “Haven't your parents taught you not to wander around outside at night?”

The watermelon-kid grins, and does a backflip. “Hi Catwoman.” he says. He sounds barely ten.

Selina blinks. “Hello.” She says. “No one calls me Catwoman except for the cops and-”

“Batman!” Watermelon boy says. He's grinning even wider now, if that's possible.

“Yes.” Selina says slowly. “Him. Right. Would you happen to know where he is?” Do Batman's do-gooder duties extend to escorting brightly dressed children back to their homes?

“Sure do. He's downstairs, beating up some bad guys on the fifth floor. Told me to go wait in the batmobile until he was done but I wanted to practice my half-flips. You know they're tougher than full flips?”

“No,” Selina says. “No, I didn't.”

“Well. They are. Batman says that he'll help me practice. Last week he even bought me some gym equipment and stuff. He says that I've gotta be consistent with my training.” The kid says. “Consistency is very important, you know?”

“So it is,” Selina says. She sits on the ledge of the terrace, and pats the space beside her. He flops down next to her. “Does Batman know that you're being, um. . .  _ consistent _ on the terrace, instead of doing what he says?”

“Nope,” Watermelon boy says cheerfully. She frowns. She can't keep calling him that.

“Do you. . . have a name?”

“Sure do,” the kid says again, his legs swinging from the edge of the roof. Funny how he isn't afraid of the height. “I'm Robin Hood!”

Selina raises an eyebrow dubiously. “Really. Where's the bow and arrow?”

The kid slumps a little. “Batman wouldn't let me carry one. Said it was 'impractical’ and 'unwieldy’ and all that.”

“He's not wrong.” Selina says, and then pauses. “Wait. Batman said that? As in, he knows who you are?”

“Sure does.” Robin hood says. “I'm his crime fighting partner! We kick major butt together, you know.”

“Really.” Selina says, her voice dry.

“Uh huh.”

“Then how come he's the one downstairs handling the bad guys and you're supposed to wait in the car?”

Robin Hood purses his lips. “Well. This crime fighting thing, it's not regular. He only take me out on weekends, and I'm technically supposed to  _ observe _ , and not actually  _ partake _ , for when I'm older and I can help him out for real.” A pause. “And also I had to promise him I'd do my homework everyday before patrol. But sometimes he helps me out with it. Although he's not really good at writing poems.”

Selina turns away a little to hide her smile at that. The idea of the Batman, the man she has to chase through shadows and darkness to get a bare glimpse of, struggling to help a little boy out with his English homework is strangely. . .  _ endearing _ .

“Are you his. . . son?” she begins to asks, but the kid turns away, at the sound of the terrace door opening.

“Robin.” Batman growls.

“Robin  _ Hood _ .” The kid corrects meekly.

Batman ignores him. “I told you to wait in the car. You remember what I said about following the rules when we go out at night.”

“But I wasn't even-!”

“Doesn't matter. When I say something, you do it.” Batman says, terse. He actually looks concerned, Selina realises. He actually  _ cares  _ about him.

“Hey,” she says, giving a little wave. “Didn't know you'd opened up a daycare. What's up with that?”

Batman looks grim. “I see you two have met.”

“Quick question, do you actually have cat powers? Like do you always land on your feet and stuff? My friend's cat Simba always lands on her feet and I think it's really cool. What about nine lives? Do you have nine lives?” Robin gets off of the ledge and scurries over to batman, running around him and doing mock-punches.

Selina looks at Batman.

He shrugs slightly, a strangely human gesture. He looks almost a little frazzled. Like a new dad.

Her lips twitch up slightly. It's. . . nice to see a more human side of him. She's known him for a year and yet she's found out more about him in the five minutes she spent in little Robin’s company than she has in all that time. He's bad at writing poems and he bought his kid gym equipment. And he's a stickler for homework.

Not bad. Not bad at all for a man who dresses up as a bat in the night time and puts away violent criminals.

“No cat powers.” She says. “But I do enjoy getting my back scratched, from time to time,” she says, winking at Batman.

The euphemism goes completely over Robin's head, and he scrunches up his face. “What?” He says. Batman sighs. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

She giggles. 

“Well. This was fun. Bats, I like him. Call me sometime when he's at school. See you around, Robin!” She says, and then dives into the night, below.

“Bye!” She hears a high voice yell after her. And then softer, to Batman, she hears him say. “Was that pouch around her waist by any chance those diamonds you said had gone missing?” 

Batman swears, and she hears the sound of a grapple gun shooting out rope.

Selina laughs, and starts to run.

 

*

 

"Bruce!" Dick protests as his dad swings him around in the air, laughing. "Put me down!"

Selina plasters on a smile, drinking her eggnog and looking up from her book. It's Christmas day, and she's finally been invited to the manor. A tiresome three months of flirting and courtship and making out at galas before she got to come here.

Three whole months of dating possibly the most boring person in existence. She's tried and failed to find even one redeeming aspect. All he talks about are his stupid Polo championships and his dumb parties and his unfortunate taste in art. Once he talked about his recently purchased Lotus for an entire hour. She had kind of zoned out at that point, looking over his shoulder and drinking a mimosa while he talked in length about not only his Lotus now, but in fact the entirety of his collection of European sports cars. She had just signalled for the waiter to send over another mimosa, and settled in to get properly drunk. It was the only way to survive the rest of dinner.

She did _ try _ , at first, to genuinely talk to him.To like him. She even thought she would have. That first day when she walked into the boat party and saw him brooding on the far rear side of the yacht. There was a strange shadow flickering across his face. Something inscrutable in the way he held himself. Like he didn't want to be there at all. And then someone had yelled his name and the mask was back on, and he was laughing and slapping backs and throwing back drinks. She had seen him then and thought,  _ there _ .  _ There _ was a man who looked interesting. A man with hidden depths. That was when she had first approached him.

It really sucked that she was wrong. The most deep thing about him were his pockets. That was fine. Perfect, really. Stealing from people she liked was not something she much enjoyed. And she didn't particularly like him.

She looks on now as Dick tries to squirm out of Bruce's iron grip, laughing in that adorable way kids do.

His son is cute enough though. So there's that.

"Selina!" Dick yells, giggling hysterically. "help!" Bruce is dangling him precariously over a stairwell, laughing, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Okay, so he's good looking. And he's good with his kid. But that's it.

"Selina!" Dick yells again.

Selina shuts her book and puts down her eggnog. "That's it, I'm intervening." She says, and Dick whoops. Ace wakes up from where he's curled near the fireplace with a start at the sound, running around Bruce and Dick excitedly, trying to leap up and lick Dick.

Dick giggles. "Good boy. Make Bruce stop."

Bruce smiles, wide and easy. "Not happening." He says, swinging Dick around again. Dick screams and Ace goes crazy, leaping and jumping to get at him.

Selina laughs. It's kind of hard not to. "Leave him alone, Bruce." She says, going up to them and holding onto Ace's collar in an effort to restrain him.

The problem is that she's on the smaller side, stature wise, and Ace is a pretty big dog. He jumps onto Bruce and knocks him over and Selina goes with him and suddenly it's a big pile of dog and Dick and Selina and fur on the carpeted floor and poor Bruce is underneath all their weight.

Dick laughs and laughs and Ace licks everyone's face excitedly, his tongue rough on her cheeks, and Bruce kind of chuckles a little and pushes them all off at once and Selina suddenly realises it's the most fun she's had at Christmas since she was eight. 

She gets up slowly, dusting the dog fur off of her sweater. She came here for a reason. The priceless Degas in the lounge is a reason. The pearl necklace in the safe in the Master bedroom is a reason. The Ming dynasty vase in the foyer is a reason.

This. This isn't the reason.

Dick and Ace are rolling around the floor still, wrestling with each other playfully. Bruce gets up off of the floor and looks at her, concerned.

"Everything okay?" He asks. Selina nods.

Bruce comes and stands next to her. He's looking at Dick and Ace play. "He likes you." Bruce says. "You should come by again sometime. It's a big house, and I don't-" Bruce pauses. He looks worried, almost. "He's been through a lot. I just don't want him to be alone."

She doesn't take anything from the manor that day.

She just can't. They all have dinner together, Bruce and Dick and Alfred, -who she's never met before, but heard a lot about-, and Dick talks excitedly about maybe getting another dog for the manor, someone who'll be friends with Ace, and she can tell that Bruce doesn't want to say no to Dick on Christmas day, but she can also tell that Bruce doesn't want to get another dog that'll shed around the house, thank you very much, so he just presses his lips together and says “We'll see,”. Dick pouts and says “We'll see always means  _ no _ .” and then Alfred points something out in one of the dishes that distracts Dick and Bruce smiles sheepishly at Selina when she mouths “We'll see?” incredulously at him. Sounds like something a TV dad would say.

She leaves after dinner, and says her goodbyes to Alfred and Dick. Dick is driving Alfred half-mad, running around all keyed up on the sugar and presents and excitement. Bruce says he's going to walk her out to the door, but once they're at the porch, he kisses her.

"Thank you." He says. “For today. It was fun.” He looks like he's about to say something more,  but he reconsiders and steps away. "Goodnight." He says. He's quieter somehow today. More. . . restrained, in front of his family. She hasn't heard him brag about his polo championship trophies even once.

Selina pulls her scarf closer to herself. "Goodnight." She says, except she doesn't leave. She just stands there looking at him.

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

She sighs, and on some strange impulse she kisses him again. His mouth is warm and he smells good, like aftershave and the rum that they drank after dinner. He pulls her closer, his hands on her waist. They aren't kissing anymore, just breathing into each other's mouths. He looks the same way he did that day in the yacht. Quiet. Unfathomable. He kisses her again.

She clutches at his shoulders, his back. It's too cold to be outside this long, but neither of them could care less. Something about this whole thing makes her think about Batman. It's Christmas. Does he have a home to go to? A family? Or is he just alone out there, working, working, always working. She shakes her head. Pushes away the thought, and looks up at Bruce. Their breaths are misting in the cold. He hasn't stopped touching her. It's like he can't.

"Don't go." He breathes into her ear, kissing up along the column of her throat, the line of her jaw. "Stay the night."

Her scarf is falling off. Bruce pulls it back on. She thinks she can faintly hear Dick singing a carol inside. Alfred's exasperated scoldings. She wonders if Ace is slobbering all over the sofa, and Alfred trying to push him off. If Dick is laughing and trying to race his trucks down the banister.

She thinks of her own apartment. Quiet and dark and empty. The cold bed and the sad little flowerpot that's hosting her almost dead violets.  

“Yeah,” she says, and Bruce looks almost surprised. “I'll stay.” 

 

*

 

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

She finds out in what could arguably be the worst possible way.

Ivy's got out of Arkham again.

“Pam,” she yells up at the swirling storm of vines and thorns. There's some kind of strange sap covering everything. She can hear the people covered in it screaming. She steps carefully over a puddle of it.

A shadow in the darkened corner of the alley behind her shifts a little, and she nods at it. She told him she could talk Pam down, but he's here to handle the situation if things get too out of hand.

“Pam!” She yells again, her hands cupped around her mouth. Nothing. The vines keep swirling and the sap keeps dripping out of everywhere.

The shadow behind her begins to take out his tranquilizer gun from his belt.

“Wait,” she hisses at him. The shadow looks distinctly annoyed, but he waits.

“PAM!” she screams.

The vines stop swirling.

A woman from above it all, standing on top of a large bud-looking abomination looks down at her.

“Cat?” She says incredulously. The sap stops oozing out of the vine orifices near her.

“Thanks.” Selina says.

Pam nods, descending slowly towards her. She's wearing some sort of green leaf and cloth mesh dress. It looks good.

“You look good,” Selina says, stalling.

Pam beams. “Thank you. I made it myself.”

There are people still screaming and crying around them. The shadow in the alley looks almost impatient.

“I'm going to take over this city,” Pam says. “And then I'll break Harley out too. It'll be like a reunion.”

“Sure,” Selina says weakly. “The band’ll be back together again.”

A man tries to pull his wife out from under a vine, but the thick tendril curls tight around her, and she gets dragged away into the depths of the gigantic plant. Ivy looks on, disinterestedly.

“Look, Pam, maybe you could leave all those people alone and-”

Pam stares at something behind her. “Is that _Batman_?” She says, narrowing her eyes.

Oh, fuck.

“Pam, he's just here to-”

“He's the one who took me to Arkham the first time,” she says, pointing to him, her finger shaking. There's something wild in her eyes. Almost feral.

Selina turns to Batman. “ _Now_ ,” she mouths.

But Ivy's already shot out a vine towards him, and it jabs him in the gut. It doesn't knock him out, but it makes him fumble with the tranq gun for a second. They don't have a second.

“I'm not going back there again!” Ivy shouts, fear in her eyes. “I'm never going back!”

She screams, and suddenly all of the vines start moving, oozing and writhing rapidly.

“Bat! Any time now!” Selina yells, backing up, away from ivy. Batman aims. His finger is on the trigger. He's not going to be fast enough.

Ivy raises a hand, and clenches her fist.

All the vines explode.

She's knocked back by the force of the explosion, and there's a sharp spike of pain in her abdomen. Someone shouts her name.

And then everything is gone.

 

*

 

She only remembers in flashes after that. Only has chunks of memory. Someone carrying her away from the heat and the fire. She blinks up at him. His cowl is half torn from the explosion. She furrows her brow in confusion, but it hurts, it hurts too much to think.

There's something so familiar about him. It's right there, right at the tip of her tongue. She reaches up, reaches towards his face with one of her hands. Grazes his exposed jaw with the tip of her fingers.

She thinks of yachts and Christmas dinners. The taste of cranberry sauce in her mouth.

He doesn't even look at her. He's busy driving, concentrating on the road. They're in a car now. When did they get in the car? He's driving really fast. She wonders why. Tries to look around, but then she realises she can't move. There's something wet on her hands. Her stomach. She's clutching at her stomach. Why?

She looks down at her stomach. 

 

Oh. That can't be good.

 

“Bleeding out, I’m bleeding out.” She gasps. The pain is so sharp and so tight around her waist, that it feels like someone plunged a hot iron in there. The shrapnel feels like it's digging deeper with every breath she takes. She cries out as they take a hard turn and the shrapnel moves.

Batman's jaw clenches. That jaw. She knows it so well. She tries to remember, but her stomach hurts too much. She can feel the blood pooling on her lap. Warm and sticky and red. For some stupid reason, tears spring to her eyes.

“Am I going to die,” she chokes out.

The car turns left suddenly and they're going through a long tunnel. She can see lights at the end of it. The light at the end of the tunnel. How fucking symbolic.

“No,” Batman is saying, except it's not his voice, it's a softer one, a quieter one, one that she knows and-

The last thing she remembers before she blacks out again is a hand on top of hers. Warm and ungloved.

 

*

 

She slowly floats back to consciousness. There's still some pain in her stomach, but it's dulled to a blunt edge now. She tries to sit up, but immediately regrets it when the entire room starts to spin.

“I'm going to-” she groans, and a bedpan is thrust towards her and she pukes her guts out into it. She closes her eyes and sighs. Wipes her mouth slowly.

“Hey, Rob.” She says. She reaches for her mask, but there isn't one. She sighs. “Guess cat's out of the bag, huh?”

Robin laughs. She smiles. Batman never laughs at the cat jokes. It's nice to finally see some appreciation.

“Hi, Catwoman. Or I guess I should say Selina. Batman ran face recognition yesterday night.” Robin says, dutifully extricating the bedpan away from her and away in a sink somewhere, not even wincing. “You feeling okay?”

She takes a few deep breaths. It hurts to inhale too deep, because her gut still  feels like it's on fire. She looks around. She's on a stretcher, in a room with all these medical supplies. Everything looks dark and light at the same time. It's strange. 

“Am I in the legendary batcave?” She asks.

“Yup. In the med bay. Well. It's actually supposed to be called first aid room, but I thought med bay sounded cooler and star trek-y.” Robin grins. “Batman says there's nothing cool and star trek-y about our jobs but are you kidding? He's  _ Batman _ . Last week I saw him rappel down a fifty storey skyscraper.  _ Hello _ ! That's super cool.”

Selina smiles a little, listening to his familiar chit chat. It's comforting to hear. It makes the twisting pain in her gut seem a little more far away. Possibly that could be because of the morphine.

“And where is he? Batman?”

“Oh,” Robin says, looking apologetic. “well, it's daytime now, and he has his day job. I don't have school though, cause I have Christmas holidays. So I'll be here to bother you all day. Batman told me to keep an eye on you. Sorry he's not here.”

“That's fine. Thank you for taking care of me, Robin, but I really should go now.” She says. She pauses, swallowing down the guilt. “I should go see Pam.”

Robin looks confused. “But why? She's back in Arkham. She's not in trouble anymore. It's not like you have to worry about her.”

“Have you ever seen Arkham?”

Robin shakes his head.

“Then you wouldn't know what it's like. I  _ do  _ have to worry about her. It's not a place I'd wish for anyone to go to. Even dangerous criminals. That's what your father doesn't get when he's putting these people away. Arkham  _ changes _ people. It makes them hollow.” She says.

Robin is quiet. He looks down. She realises that she may have been harsher with him than she intended to be. She scrubs at her face. “Sorry.” She says.

“It's fine.”

“Was Poison Ivy- was she always like this?” He asks, hesitantly. “I didn't even know you two were friends.”

“You didn't know my name until last night,” Selina points out.

Robin only looks more guilty. “Well, actually, we kind of  _ did _ know. You know how Batman gets. He ran your prints from some old evidence once.”

Selina stares. “He's always known? And he told you?”

“I kept asking him, and he made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone, so.” Robin shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, but I thought you always kinda knew that  _ we _ knew.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Selina says, numbly. She sighs. Her throat feels dry. And her head hurts. What a hell of a week. “May I have some water?”

“Sure,” Robin says, fetching her a glass from some corner of the room.

He sits at the foot of her cot, looking anxiously at her. “Are you mad at us? For finding out who you are and putting your  friend in jail again?”

Selina considers this. Is she _mad_. Only a child would be direct enough to ask a question like that.

“I don't know. I'm not feeling much of anything right now.” she says.

“There's a  _ lot _ of morphine in your bloodstream.” Robin points out, helpfully. “Maybe that's why.”

“Maybe.”

She lies back down, and closes her eyes. She sighs. Sleep will be a long time coming.

Robin hums. He keeps moving, one part of his body or the other. Either his leg jiggles or his fingers tap impatiently, or he paces around.

Selina cracks an eye open. “You okay, kid?”

Robin stops. “Hm? Oh, me? Yeah, I'm fine.” He grins. “Batman thinks I have ADHD. You know what that is? I just found out last week. Attention deficit -something- disorder. He wants to take me to a psychologist and make me give all these tests, but,” he pauses, doing a handspring across the room, “but I keep telling him, as long as I can be Robin and run around and kick some bad guy ass every night, I'll be fine,” he says, ending his sentence with a somersault and then a small bow.

Selina claps obligingly. Robin grins, proud. He comes and sits back down. Suddenly, he looks very shy.

“What is it?” Selina says.

“You remember that thing you said? About Batman not getting that he shouldn't put people in Arkham?”

“Mm hmm?”

“And you called him my Father.” Robin says, very uncharacteristically quiet.

Oh. All of a sudden she sees what the problem is.

Robin is still. He sits back down on her cot. Studies his hands. “He's not my dad.”

“No?”

Robin shakes his head.

“But you're his ward, aren't you? That would  _ kind _ of make him your dad, I'd say.

Robin looks up quickly. “What? I- how do you know that?”

“Maybe you should tell Bruce what you feel. About the whole dad thing. I'm sure he'd be delighted to know that you want to be adopted officially. He really would.” She says, sitting back up and taking hold of his hand.

“Look, Catwoman, I don't know what you're talking about, I don't know any  _ Bruce _ and-”

“Dick,” she sighs, to his ever widening eyes, “take off that ridiculous mask, won't you? His mask tore off in the explosion. I saw his face.”

Robin's shoulders slump. “Oh, well,” he sighs, peeling off the domino mask. “Bruce was hoping the head trauma would make you forget. Once you were all well again he was just going to drug you and dump you back in your apartment.”

“How romantic,” Selina sighs.

She looks at Dick's exposed face now. “Hey, kiddo.” She says. “Nice to finally see your actual face.”

“What do you mean, you weirdo?” Dick says, giggling. “You see my actual face all the time, when you come over to canoodle with B.”

Selina grins. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, getting off the bed and walking around again. He skips to an end of the room and back, seemingly just for the sake of it.

“Hyperactivity,” Selina says, smiling a little.

“What?”

“It's attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. What Bruce thinks you have.”

Dick mimes punching someone with a fierce look on his face, and then he does a roundhouse kick. He looks over at her, panting a little. “Think he's right?”

“Oh, hell yeah.”

He grins. “Now that you know everything, you want a tour of the cave? We have a giant dinosaur.”

“A giant  _ what _ ?”

“You heard me,” he says, grinning, his hands on his hips. “Come on, you can sit in one of our wheelchairs and I'll push you around. It'll be fun.”

Selina rubs at her forehead. “I'm sorry,  _ one  _ of your wheelchairs?”

“Heh, yeah. Bruce gets banged up a lot on patrol.” Dick runs off, leaving the double doors swinging behind him. “I'll get the comfy one with the padded seat!” He yells behind him.

Selina sighs. So much for sleep.

 

*

 

It's late in the evening when he comes to see her.

She's still in the cave, in the ' _ med-bay _ ’, as Dick calls it, and she's been asleep for a while. Dick left long before, complaining about having to finish his holiday homework, without which he wouldn't be allowed to go for patrol.

She scrubs at her eyes, trying to blink away the dregs of sleep. When she turns, she sees him sitting in a chair next to her bed.

“Oh, hey there,” she says drowsily. He's wearing a suit. His shirt collar is all rumpled, like he's been wearing it for a while. Must have just got back from work. She tries to get up, but the stabbing pain in her abdomen is back, and she winces.

He leans over and flicks the morphine dial.

She looks at him, in his fancy suit and distinct lack of a mask.  “Not even gonna try to pretend?”

Bruce's expression is an odd mix of grim. . . and  _ sheepish _ , almost. “Dick told me you found out.”

“Yeah. I did.” she looks at him. “Dick told me that you knew all along. And you never said anything.”

Bruce drops his eyes. He gestures to a tray that Selina notices only now. “Alfred made you some sandwiches,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And your things are in the closet down the hall. I could get them for you, in case you might want to leave.”

“I don't want to leave.”

“Oh,” Bruce says. He's quiet after that. He looks down at his hands. Maybe it's something Dick picked up from him.

“Come here,” Selina says, and pats the space on the bed next to her.

Bruce looks up at her at that, and the look on his face is enough to make her smile. “Just to lie down, I promise. I'll keep my hands to myself."

Still, he hesitates. “It’s a twin bed.”

“We'll make do.  _ Bruce _ .”

Bruce takes off his suit jacket and comes and lies down next to her. He's stiff. Like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

“You’re angry,” he says into her hair.

“No,” she says. 

He swallows. "I want you to know, Ivy, she- I put in a request to have her sent to Blackgate instead." 

She stares up at him. "Really?" She says.

"Yes."

" _Thank you_ , Bruce." She says, and he just shrugs, looking away. He's feeling uncomfortable. 

The first button of his shirt is open. She can see one of his scars on his collarbone. It's a faint red one, that becomes slightly jagged near his shoulder. He has worse ones on his back. She snorts.

He looks at her. “What's so funny?”

“I used to think you got all your scars from playing polo way too aggressively.” She says, laughing.

He smiles. Not Bruce Wayne's wide grin, and not Batman's smirk. It's a small smile. Almost shy.

“The last time I played polo was when I was seventeen.” He admits. “I was terrible at it.”

“What, are you more of a golf kind of guy then?” She says, the leftovers of the smile still on her face.

“I'm more of a catching criminals and putting them away kind of a guy.” He says.

“Fair enough,” she says. They smile at each other for a while, and then Bruce shifts a little.

“This twin bed.” He says. “It's really not working for the both of us.”

“Oh, hush. We're fine.” She says. She puts her head on his chest.

He puts an arm around her. “Alfred will be back any minute, and he's going to shout at me for taking advantage of an injured woman.” He tells her, but makes no move to get off the bed.

“Hmm.” She says. She closes her eyes. The morphine may possibly be hitting her system right now. “I'm going to fall asleep on you,” she warns him.

He says something after a while, something quiet, but she's already too deeply asleep to hear it.

 

*

 

She wakes up a few hours later. It's night. She had been expecting an empty bed, but surprisingly, it's not.

Bruce is lying under her, his suit even more wrinkled and his mouth slightly open. He's snoring softly. The fearsome dark knight, indeed.

“You guys are gross,” Dick says, from the doorway, and Selina starts.

“Poke him a little, will you? Alfred says to come upstairs for dinner.” He says.

Selina sits up, stretching. She accidentally elbows Bruce in the neck and he growls something at her and shifts.

“Sorry,” she says, grinning and not particularly meaning it.

Dick scampers up to them and tugs at Bruce. “Can I show her my gymnastics stuff?” He says.

Bruce nods, his eyes still closed. “After dinner,” he mumbles, and puts a pillow over his head.

“I like you.” Dick says to her. “I'll even show you my quadruple somersault.”

“That doesn't sound like a real thing.” She says.

Dick flops down on the bed, more or less on top of Bruce's legs, who groans and attempts to swat him away. “Wake up!” Dick says, ignoring his grumbling. “Tell her the quadruple somersault is real.”

“It’s real,” Bruce mutters, his voice muffled from underneath the pillow. “I've had three hours of sleep today. Go away.”

“Buzzkill,” Dick says, although he doesn't sound the least bit fazed.

There's three people on her twin bed now, and it is decidedly _not_ working out. “Get off,” she says, to no one in particular.

No one does. She sighs, and lies back down.

Dinner can wait. 

 

 


	2. Jason Todd and the Scion of the Dark

She's half asleep when she hears the door open.

A small creak as the door opens. Socked feet padding across the room. She knows it wakes Bruce up immediately, because he props himself up on his elbows.

“Bruce?” Comes a small voice.

“What's wrong?” She hears Bruce say, his voice quiet. He thinks she's still asleep.

“I had- oh.” Jason says, and suddenly the embarrassment is obvious in his tone. “You're not alone. Uh. That's- okay, sorry bye.” He says, and starts to leave.

The bed dips slightly, and then rights itself. Bruce is sitting up now. “It's just Selina.” She hears. His voice is bleary and sleep-soft. “What's wrong?” He repeats.

A pause.

“I had that dream again.” She hears.

Bruce sighs.

There's a movement outside, in the lawns. A scratching noise.

Jason starts, his breath hitching.

“It's just one of the bats, Jay.” Bruce's voice is soft.

“I know,” Jason says.

There's a stillness in the room. She hears Jason shift a little, uncomfortable.

“I just- can you- like earlier?” He mumbles.

Another pause. Bruce considers it.

“Please? It's not a school night, so I can stay up late.”

“Okay,” Bruce says finally.

She hears Jason exhale. “Uh, what about Selina?”

“What about her?”

“She won't be, I don't know, mad or something that you left in the middle of the night?”

She hears Bruce's chuckle at that. Just a short exhale through his nose. “I don't know,” he says, sardonically. “Will she?”

She rolls over. Of course he'd have known she was awake. “Screw you.” She says to him, and Bruce laughs.

“I don't mind, Jason.” She says, half smiling at the kid.

Jason blushes. “Oh. Hey, Selina.”

She smiles back. “Nice t-shirt.”

Jason looks down at his Power Rangers t-shirt. “Oh, thanks, I guess. Red ranger is pretty cool. And Yellow ranger. Ladies are cool too.” He says, kind of quickly.

Bruce gets up off of the bed. “Let's go,” he says.

He turns back to look at her. “ _Nightmare_ ,” he mouths.

Selina nods.

“Bye kiddo,” she says, out loud to Jason.

“Bye,” he says.

The door clicks shut behind them. She can hear them walking down the hall. “She's cool and all,” she can hear Jason say, “but can you tell her to stop calling me kiddo? I'm _thirteen_.”

“You think she ever listens to me?” She hears Bruce reply.

She laughs, rolls back over to her side of the bed, and goes to sleep.

 

*

 

She wakes in the early hours of morning, and the bed next to her is still empty. She pulls on Bruce's bathrobe over her tank and walks down the hall and down the stairs. She goes to the third room on the right. Leans against the open door.

“Come back to bed,” she whispers.

Bruce blinks up blearily at her. Jason is asleep more or less diagonally across the bed, his mouth half open. The book Bruce was holding is precariously balancing near the edge of the bed.

Bruce gets up slowly, extricating his shoulder from under Jason's head. She can hear his back crack slightly as he gets up. She snorts. “Old man.” She whispers. Bruce gives her a look.

Jason remains motionless, still asleep and snoring slightly. Bruce picks up the book and puts it back on Jason's shelf.

“Sherlock Holmes?” She says.

“The Adventure of the Speckled Band. His favourite.”

“That one always scared the fuck out of me,” she says.

He frowns.

She smiles. “I'm not one of your kids. You can't tell me to mind my language.”

“Not in front of Jason.”

“He's asleep.” She says, and Bruce gives her another look. “Alright, alright. That story scared the jeepers out of me. Happy now?”

Bruce grunts in way that somehow manages to convey both his amusement and his frustration.

She grabs ahold of his hand. “Good. Come on. Let's go back to bed.”

“It's five. I should go train,” he says, but he lets her lead him back to his bedroom again.

 

In bed, they lie next to each other. Bruce looks at her.

“You're wearing my bathrobe,” he says after a bit.

“Suck it up,” she says.

He shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “God, I'm tired.” He says.

“Get some sleep.”

“I can't. I have work.”

“Don't go,” she says easily. “Let's sleep in.”

“I can't not go. I have a supply chain meeting in the afternoon with one of our investors that I need to prepare for.”

She shrugs, yawning. “That sounds boring.” she stretches, and curls up against him.

“Hnn.” He says. He puts a hand on her side, running his fingers down to her hip and back, but he seems preoccupied with something else.

“What's wrong?” She says.

“That's the sixth time he's had that dream.” Bruce says, his voice low.

She turns towards him. “What is it about?”

He shrugs. “Nothing much. He's falling from the top of a building. He fires the grapple gun a second too late. So he falls, but there's never any solid ground under him. He just keeps falling.”

“God,” she says.

He sighs against her temple. “Yeah. Scares the hell out of him.”

She says nothing. Then, “Kids his age. . . maybe you could get him to talk to someone?”

Bruce shakes his head. “He's shy. He's only just started talking to me about this stuff. He won't open up to a stranger.”

He props himself up on an elbow. “I bought one of those child psychology books,” he says. “It said recurring dreams can mean anxiety. Or stress.”

She looks at him. The thought of him pouring over one of those books while worrying about Jason makes something warm and glowing in her chest twist painfully.

“You think it's because he's going out on Patrol.” She says.

He's silent. “Maybe.” He says finally. “He sees a lot of things that-” he breaks off, rubbing at his eyes. He sighs. “I don't know.” He says. “I don't know.”

“You can't bench him,” she says. “He's going to think it's his fault.”

“I know.” He says.

The alarm on his bedside rings. He leans over and turns it off.

“Does he have any friends? From school?” She says.

“I don't know. A few. Not as many as Dick did.”

She laughs a little at that. Softly, though. They're both speaking in whispers, for some reason. “Let's face it, Bruce. No one had quite as many friends as Dick did.”

He smiles. “No. Maybe not.” He looks tired.

“Hey,” she says, pulling him back down to her level. “It's going to be fine. He's a good kid, isn't he?”

“The best,” Bruce says.

“He'll be okay. Kids have phases sometimes. They grow out of it. My sister used to have this dream about drowning in a pool of water, and no matter what they did, my parents couldn't figure out why.”

“I didn't know you had a sister,” Bruce says.

“Yeah. She was a little shit. They never figured out I was dipping her feet in a bucket of cold water every night. Took her to a million doctors before they found out.”

Bruce stares at her for a moment, in shocked silence. Then he starts laughing. A belly laugh, his face crinkling with it. He bows his head down to her shoulder, his back still shaking.

“Anyone told you you look really cute when you laugh?” She says, smirking. “You should do it more often.”

“You're insane.” He says, looking up at her, still gasping for breath.

“You love it,” she says, and climbs on top of him, meeting his mouth for a kiss.

 

*

 

At breakfast, she stares at Jason, her head propped on her hands. Bruce is at work, so it's just the two of them sitting at that ridiculously large excuse for a table. Jason is still in his pajamas.

He sits across the table from her, wolfing down his toast and eggs. That boy can put away a surprisingly large amount of food and still stay scrawny.

Her notices her staring, and looks up, his mouth full of toast. “What,” he says, his voice cracking in that awkward way kids his age sometimes do. He blushes.

She shakes her head. “You like reading, huh?”

He shrugs. “A little, I guess.”

“I saw your bookshelf. Doesn't look like _a_ _little_ to me.”

He colours again. “It's just stuff I take from the manor library. Some detective thrillers, and stuff. The manor has a lot of classics. Some of the books are kind of old fashioned.” He admits.

“Hmm.” She says.

He eats more toast. She thinks.

 

Later, they wash the dishes in the Manor's kitchen, (it's Alfred's day off,) which is slightly smaller than the dining hall, but still annoyingly grandiose. There's a sense of calm in the manor that she never gets in her own fifth floor apartment in the East end. Not being able to smell homeless person urine from the kitchen window is definitely a plus.

She puts one of the plates under the tap, letting the water run over it. It's June, and the heat in the air almost feels sticky. She wipes at her forehead with the back of her hand.

“You like Power Rangers, right?” She says.

Jason's sitting on the counter, his legs dangling off the edge. He's silently drying the plates she hands him. “I guess,” he says.

He's quiet around her. Wary, almost. Like he's still unsure of her motives. She knew someone like that once. Took a lot of time for Batman to come around.

“So you like science fiction?” She says. She passes him a plate.

“You mean like, Frankenstein and stuff?” He says, after a while.

“Sure, Frankenstein. That's a good example.”

Jason shrugs. He wipes the plate meticulously, checking for spots. “I don't know. Never really read much of it.”

Selina dries off her hands, and looks at him. A thirteen year old kid, wearing socks around the manor in the month of June, like someone's going to take them away if he's not wearing them all the time. She remembers that feeling.

“Okay, Jason. Let's go check out your library,” she says.

 

*

 

“These are absolutely terrible.” Selina says, hands on her hips, looking at the science fiction section.

“They are?” Jason's standing behind her, biting his lip. “But there's so many books.”

“It's so many _bad_ books.” She picks up one of the paperbacks, and stares at it. “Hmm. This one's okay.”

Jason leans forward to look at it. “ _Lord of the Flies_? Isn't that the one where those school boys run around with face paint on and try to kill each other?”

“Yeah, more or less. It's a good read if you inherently have a pessimistic outlook and believe that humanity can devolve back to savagery when faced with lack of authority and no consequences to their actions.”

“That's. . . a lot of big words.” Jason says. “I don't know if I'm smart enough to read that kind of stuff.”

Selina stares at him. “Are you kidding? The only reason I know all that stuff is because I had to study it for high school. And you're really smart.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I saw the report card stuck on the fridge too, kid.” She says, grinning. “Don't sell yourself short.”

He smiles, shy and pleased. “Thanks. B put it there, even though I told him not too. It's super embarrassing.”

“I think it's really cool.” She says, meaning it genuinely, and he blushes again.

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the shelf, “all of this sucks. Where's _Dune_? _Fahrenheit_ _451_? Hell, where's _Ender's game_?”

Jason looks blank. “We have some H. G. Wells.” He says, after a pause. “And I think Bruce was reading Brave New World after work, last week.”

Selina makes a disinterested noise. “That’s fancy stuff. Don't you have some cheap thrillers? Space Aliens with ray guns? Flying cars and time travel?”

“Not really.” Jason says. “There's a lot of books about gardening and landscaping though. And recipe books. I have a feeling Alfred occasionally curates the library, from time to time.”

Selina sighs. She takes out a few books from the shelf, and hands them to Jason. “Read this, and this. Maybe this. Tell me if you like them and I'll make you a library card. You can see what we commoners without personal libraries have to make do with.”

Jason stares at her over the pile of books in his hands. “This feels a lot like homework,” he says, a little testily.

“I thought you liked reading.”

“In my own time, sure.”

“There's no deadline. Read when you can't sleep at night. Or make Bruce read them to you.” she says. She walks along the shelves, running her hands over the thick spines.

Jason looks embarrassed. He follows after her, still carrying the pile of books with him. “Um, so, about that thing yesterday. I didn't know you were here. I wouldn't have gone to his room if I had.”

“Why not? It's your house. Not mine.”

“It's Bruce's house.”

Selina stops walking. She looks back at him. “It's your house.” She says.

Jason looks down. “Nah. He's just letting me stay here for a bit. He'll probably change his mind in a while.”

She tilts her head to a side. “You really think that?”

Jason shrugs. He's still looking down.

“Kid, he's never going to kick you out.”

Jason puts the piles of books on a table, arranging them in a neat pile. That's another thing she's noticed about Jason. He never makes a mess if he can help it. Always cleaning up after himself.

“You don't know that,” he says after a while, his eyes on the books, and not her.

“I do know it.” She says. She sits in one of the chairs at the small table. “I know it because he puts up your report cards on the fridge, and he reads you stories in the middle of the night so you can go to sleep, and he takes you to that diner once a week for a milkshake after patrol.” She pauses. “And also, he bought you that dumb skateboard that you never use because he read in a magazine catalogue somewhere that it's all the rage with kids these days.”

Jason smiles a little, and it's like his entire face lights up. “That skateboard _is_ pretty dumb.” He admits.

“What's it called? _RevSmash_ or something? It looks hideous, with all its neon stripes, sitting in your garage like that. I have a feeling Alfred wants to bury it far away in a pit somewhere.”

“ _RevMaster2000_.” Jason says, and they both snort.

“Bruce is so fucking clueless sometimes,” she laughs.

Jason smiles. “Yeah.” He says. “He really is.”

 

*

 

Selina sees the batsignal in the sky, flickering in the cloudy patches.

“Bruce,” she says. “It's time to go.”

He's on his back, his eyes closed. “Hmm.” He says.

“You can enjoy your afterglow later,” she says, handing him his cowl and cape. “The city needs your help, Oh Great Defender of the Weak and Saviour of the Innocent.”

He sighs, putting his cape back on and adjusting his suit. “If this is about the Gotham Gazette article again, I told you, I had nothing to do with it. They just print those things about Batman sometimes. People need hope, Selina. If I can provide that, then so be it.”

“Alright, Mr. Leather Bat costume, don't get too modest there.” She says, pulling up the zipper of her suit. “Also, could we next time do it somewhere classier?” She looks around. “I swear I heard a rat, earlier. And the gravel scrapes against my back.”

Bruce levels his gaze at her. “These articles come out all the time. You don't normally care about this stuff.”

“You know, when I said let's go to the Gotham Continental one day, I was talking more along the lines of their penthouse suite, and not their terrace. I mean, I think that rat was _watching_.”

“ _Selina_.”

“I don't really care about the article now either,” she points out, sitting on the ledge of the rooftop and pulling her gloves back on.

A pause. Bruce is studying her, and it makes her feels oddly unsettled.

“You do care,” he says finally, “Because this time, Vicki Vale wrote the piece. And she said some nice things about me.”

“Gushed about you for an entire two pages, more like.”

“You’re _jealous_ ,” Bruce says. He sounds amused. And he looks decidedly smug about it.

She scoffs. “Look, put your bat helmet back on, and go about your ‘ _Heroic crime fighting crusade’_ , already. I already told you, I don't care about this kind of stuff.”

But Bruce is still doing that dumb half-smile thing he does. He leans back, and says, “I thought that was a nice line too. _Crusade_. Made me sound very noble.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should ask her if you can fuck _her_ on gross, rat-infested rooftops, if you're so enamoured with her.”

Bruce stares at her. His hair is still half mussed from earlier. “You are. You _are_ jealous.”

Selina rolls her eyes, looking around in the dark for her whip. Where did she put that damned thing? It has to be here somewhere, she just needs to-

Bruce pulls her back down from the slightly raised ledge, and onto the terrace floor, where he's leaning against the wall. He pulls her close to his chest, against the bat-symbol. “It's only you,” he says quietly. “It's always going to be only you.”

Selina stays quiet. Maybe she's afraid that if she starts to say something, all the wrong words will come out.

They stay like that for a while. Bruce isn't wearing his gauntlets. His hands are large and warm. She holds one of them, rubbing her thumb along his palm. He lets her, watching.

It's June, so they can can sit here for a while without freezing to death, so they do.

“Jason's made me switch from _Sherlock Holmes_ to _Ender's Game_.” Bruce says, after some time. “Any reason as to why that might have happened?”

Selina shrugs. “He needed a hobby.”

“What was wrong with the older books? This one has eight sequels, and he wants to read them all. By the time we finish he'll be in college.”

“The old books were fine, Bat, but I don't really remember being a thirteen year old and having a great passion for Victorian era criminology.” She smiles up at him. “Not everyone is like you, you know.”

“Hnn. So spaceships and evil aliens?”

“Spaceships and evil aliens.” She affirms.

A pause. “His nightmares aren't getting any better.” He says this with a lack of tone, and so she knows he's worried.

“Give it time,” she says, although she feels unsure herself.

He sighs.

“Bruce, have you told him yet that he's going to stay for good?” She says, remembering the conversation she had with Jason last week, suddenly.

He stares at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Have you had a talk with him, you know, about how since he's legally adopted now, and so he's not going to have to leave the manor anytime soon? That this isn't a temporary thing?”

“He knows that, Cat.”

“I'm not so sure.” She says. “I don't think it's ever been permanent, with him. You told me he got sent to a bunch of different foster homes before he ran away?”

Bruce closes his eyes, and exhales. “God. You can't possibly think that he believes-,” he stops talking. “God.” He says again.

“I think you should talk to him.”

Bruce sighs again. He studies their joined hands. “I'm not as good at this as I should be.”

“No,” she says. “But no one is, at the start.”

“He's just so different from Dick.”

“I know. You'll manage. He's a good kid.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says.

Selina looks up at the sky again. “You should really go see what Gordon wants.” She says. “Or else how could you look yourself in mirror, Oh great Saviour of Souls?”

“Okay. Nowhere in the article was 'Saviour of Souls’ mentioned. ‘ He says, putting his cowl on.

She grins. “Whatever you say, Scion of the Dark.”

“Now you're pushing it. Look out behind you, I can see the rat.” He says, pointing.

“Where? _Fuck_ ,” she hisses, turning around so fast that she almost gives herself whiplash. There's nothing there.

Next to her, Bruce is silently chuckling.

“Fuck you,” she says, heatedly.

“I thought rats would be a non-issue for you, what with the whole cat avatar.” he says, that stupid smirk on his face again.

Selina narrows her eyes. “Look, buddy. I make the cat jokes here. You can't do that. It's _my_ thing.”

He just smiles. “Bye, Cat.” He says, and jumps up and over the ledge, diving down towards the ground in a smooth streamlined form, shooting out the grapple at only the last possible second.

She's begun to think he does that just to impress her.

 

*

 

The Gotham public library is huge, and it's mostly empty, just as Selina had hoped.

“This is it.” She says, gesturing to a shelf towards the side. “Science fiction and fantasy.”

Jason walks over to it with her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Woah.” He says.

“Yeah. It's a pretty good collection, I think.” She says, perusing the titles.

“Pretty good? It's great.” Jason says, sounding amazed. He turns to her. “How many books do they let you issue at a time?”

She snorts. “I'll go get a library card made for you.”

  
They spend the rest of the afternoon there, sitting at one of the tables. Jason pours over a book, and Selina sits across him, occasionally adding a comment, or looking around, or skimming through one of the books from Jason's stack.

“This one's good.” She says, flipping through one of the paperbacks, with a shirtless bronzed and muscled man wrestling back a green bug-like creature with his bare hands. “Perfect ray guns to nubile virgins ratio.”

Jason laughs, making a face. “Gross.”

He's finally begun to open up to her a little. Even if it's just to laugh at her dumb jokes. She flips through another book from Jason's stack, one that actually looks promising.

“I, uh, want to be a writer when I grow up,” Jason says suddenly, and then looks down at his book again, blushing.

Selina puts the book down. “Really?” She says.

“Yeah.”

“What kind of writer?”

“Um, adventures. Like the ones that Bruce and I have. Except more believable, I guess.” He says, smiling shyly.

“What kind of adventures?” She asks.

“Crime and gangsters,” he grins. “Stories about the mafia and hired P.I.s and stuff.”

“Jason,” Selina says in some surprise. “You should've told me. All this time I've been trying to get you into sci-fi,–"

“I like the aliens and the spaceships too,” Jason interrupts.

“–when really, we're in the wrong part of the library.” She says. “Get up. We're going to the crime and thriller section.”

Jason grins, and follows her across the rows of shelves, until she reaches the very end of the room.

“Dammit.” She mutters. “I forgot, it's in the second wing.” She turns back, and starts walking all the way back to the end of the hall, and into the foyer. They walk into the second hall. The crime and thriller department is all the way at the other end. Selina sighs.

“Where's the _RevMaster2000_ when you need it,” she complains, panting.

Jason laughs so loud that multiple people and the librarian glare at them, and he has to apologize.

 

*

 

This time, she is absolutely and completely asleep when Jason walks into the room. In fact, the only reason she wakes up is because someone shakes her awake.

She squints up. It's Bruce. He seems half asleep himself, his eyes looking red rimmed. He looks extremely resigned.

“What is it?” She says, confused. “Did something happen?”

She turns, and she sees Jason standing at the foot of the bed.

“I don't understand, did he have a nightmare again?” She says, in a low tone, looking at Bruce.

Bruce sighs. He's rubbing at his temples. “As it turns out, no. Jason has a question.”

“For me?” She says, incredulous. “At,” she pauses to check her phone on the bedside table, “two in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “So listen. I finished the book. Ender's Game.”

“Without me, by the way,” Bruce says, sounding almost hurt.

Jason looks apologetic. “Sorry, but you were off-world last week, and I thought-”

“It's fine.” Bruce says, looking tired. “Just ask the question.”

“Right,” Jason says. “So. The aliens attacking Earth in the beginning, did they think the humans were another of their type of alien? Like a hive mind kinda species? And once they realised that the humans were individuals they freaked out and retreated and never attacked again, even though they likely could have won easily. So the aliens were actually peaceful, at that point, it was the humans that were trying to wipe them out. Right?”

Selina stares at him.“What?” She says.

Bruce rubs at his eyes. “Jaybird,  it's too late to be talking about this. Why don't you ask Selina over breakfast.”

“But, Bruce, I'm here anyway, and she's awake, so can't she just tell me now?” Jason protests.

Bruce sighs, and turns to her. She shrugs, yawning.

“Let me hear the question again, kid.” She says.

Jason repeats the question. “So?” He asks. “What do you think?”

Selina blinks a couple of times. “I think the last time I read this book was when I was seventeen. I can't remember a thing about it, Jason. And the whole two in the morning thing isn't helping either.”

Bruce begins to speak. “Jason, I don't know if it's-”

“Or I could just read out the important parts to you.” Jason says, almost sounding excited. “And that could jog your memory.”

Bruce closes his eyes. “Jay. Please. I love you, but you need to go to bed.”

“Oh,” Jason says, looking disappointed. “Okay then.”

“You know what,” Selina says, and Bruce mutters, “Good lord.” Selina ignores him. “I'm awake now anyway. And Bruce has been off-world all week so he's going to skip work tomorrow anyway.”

“I'm not.” Bruce says.

“Yes. Yes, you are.” She says. “Why don't we all go down to the kitchen, and make some hot cocoa, and you can read us some parts of the book.”

“Great,” Jason beams, bounding ahead. “I'll make some snacks too!” he runs down the hall, his feet thudding on the marble.

Bruce looks at her. “This better not be payback for the whole Vicki Vale thing.”

“Not everything is about you, you know.” Selina says, stretching. “Besides, how many nightmares has he had lately, huh?”

Bruce gives her a grudging look. “Fine. But I want coffee. Not cocoa.”

“Make it yourself then, you big baby,” she says, getting off the bed. She yawns.

Bruce pulls the covers off, and gets up. “You just want to sleep in.” He says. “So you're making sure I can't get up tomorrow morning.”

“Are you guys coming or what?” Jason yells from the end of the hall.

“Guilty as charged,” she says to Bruce. “Guess that means you won't need to make yourself any coffee. Since you're sleeping in.”

Bruce just shakes his head, and together they walk downstairs towards the kitchen, and Jason.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was. . . very self-indulgent.


	3. Potato Soup

The only reason Selina shrieks and drops her potatoes all over the living room floor is because there is a very bloody, scrappy boy sitting on her sofa.

 

She had been in her local grocery store, buying said potatoes, before it had happened. 

She was going to be making potato soup in the evening. She put her basket down at the checkout counter, and the magazines on the rack next to it had caught her eye.

It had a photo of Bruce on the cover. He was dressed in a tux, so it must have been taken at a party. He was smiling. Laughing, really. And he was whispering something into a woman's ear. ‘WAYNE FINDS NEW CONQUEST??’ The headline screamed. In the photo, his hand was very low on her back.

Quite low.

She picked it up and put in in the basket with the rest of things.

The cashier, Hannah, had smiled at her and started bagging her groceries one by one.

“That's a lot of potatoes,” she said, still smiling. Selina had been coming to this grocery store for three years now. And she had never yet seen Hannah  _ not _ smile.

“I’m making potato soup.” Selina said.

“Neato.” Hannah said, smiling. 

Selina wondered if her facial muscles ever hurt. Then she frowned. That was a rude thing to think when someone was smiling at you.

“Did you hear about Bruce Wayne?” Hannah was saying, looking at the magazine Selina was buying. “I read that he went and bought a Caribbean island. Can you imagine that!” She said, smiling.

“No,” Selina said, politely. She looked down at the magazine. Hannah probably thought she was infatuated with Bruce or something. 

“I read it for the news.” Selina said, gesturing to the magazine.

Hannah raised her eyebrows. “It's a Cosmo, hun.” 

Selina bit her lip. “I read it for the sex tips.” She said, after a bit.

“Ah,” Hannah said, smiling again.

She paid for her things and started to walk home. It was not a very long walk, from the grocery store to her house. It was mid-afternoon, and the day seemed to stretch, never-ending and viscous, as if Time was slowing down, stretching, resting. It ought to have been evening by now. She looked at the magazine while walking. 

The woman that Bruce was whispering something to was heart-stoppingly beautiful. She had long red hair. It looked all glossy and smooth because of the camera flash.Or possibly it looked like that was because it just was that way.

Selina thought about her own hair. She'd chopped most of it off now, and it barely reached the nape of her neck.

She had looked back at the magazine, and sighed. This was dumb. She had thrown it away in the first trashcan she saw.

 

And now that she's home and shrieking at the scrappy, bloody boy on her sofa, she finds that the magazine is currently quite low on her list of concerns.

The potatoes fly all over the place. One of them hit the boy's shin. “Ow.” He says. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” She yells. Is this some kind of burglary scheme gone wrong? She throws a potato at him, and then feels incredibly stupid about it. She knows mixed martial arts. Why is she throwing potatoes?

“Ow!” The boy covered in blood says again, when the potato hits his collarbone. “Just calm down! _Jeez_ , lady.” He says.

She stills, and gets a better look at him. He looks younger than she thought he was. Not a burglar. Just a kid. He's even wearing a school uniform. And he isn't actually  _ covered  _ in blood. He's just got some coming out of his nose. 

“Look,” he says, “I'm just here to hide out for a few hours, and then I swear I'll be out of your hair, okay?” 

Isis peeps out from behind the bedroom door to see what's going on, and then hisses at the kid. He looks at her cat balefully. On judging that the situation looks more or less handled, she walks back into the bedroom, her tail curling lazily behind her.

“Who  _ are _ you?” Selina says.

“Tim. Drake. I'm Bruce's new. . .” He trails off. “I'm new.” He says finally.

“Oh,” she says. The new Robin. Right. She puts the rest of the groceries down. His nose is still bleeding quite a bit. “Hello, Tim. How the hell are you in my house?”

“I got in through the fire escape,” Tim says, still looking warily at her. 

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“I know,” Tim says miserably. “That fucking mouth-breather, Krewski, he hit my face. I can't believe he did that.”

“Who's Krewski?” Selina says, picking the potatoes up from the living room carpet. Tim is not helping at all. Perhaps he's unaware he even should. His phone starts to ring, and Tim digs through his bag and switches it off.

“Krewski is an asshole.” Tim says, sounding even more miserable. “And now Bruce is going to murder me. He's actually going to skin me alive. He's going to ground me for the next seven to eight millennia, and I'm gonna be absolutely  _ fucked _ .”

Tim has a strange way of talking. For instance, she's never heard anyone say  _ millennia _ and  _ fucked _ in the same sentence.

“Help me with these potatoes,” she says. “unless you just want to sit on my sofa and get it bloody and complain, in which case I'll kick you out.”

Tim looks at her, kind of shocked. “You're  _ mean _ .” he says.

“You bet.” She says.

He gets down on the floor to help her with the potatoes. “That's a lot of potatoes.” 

“I'm making a lot of soup.” She says.

Tim shrugs, not asking any further questions.

She picks up the bag again, and walks over to the kitchen, putting it on her counter.

Tim follows after her, aimlessly. 

“Why are you here?” She says, taking out the pot and the spices from her shelf.

Tim is quiet. “I got in a fight, and I said some things that I shouldn't have.”

He doesn't look like the type of person who'd get in a fight very easily. She starts washing the potatoes.

“And then, well, this guy, Krewski, he said some things about my parents, like how they would always go away to these different places, and it was because they didn't really care about me, which was  _ not _ true.” Tim says, his voice fierce.

Selina turns off the tap, and looks over at him. 

Tim looks very small now. “Okay,” he says quietly. “So maybe they were a little true.” 

Selina wants to say something. She should, shouldn't she? Something comforting. Something reassuring. 

“Pass me the potatoes,” she says instead.

Tim passes the potatoes to her. 

“So then I- I kind of freaked out, actually. And I punched him in the face.”

Selina starts peeling the potatoes. “You punched him in the face.” She says.

“Yeah.” Tim says, sounding glum. “So his dumb cronies started coming at me, and- and I started punching them too.”

Selina stops peeling the potatoes. “Tim,” she says, “how many kids did you take down?”

“Five! And most of them were  _ juniors _ !” Tim says, his expression forlorn. “And I'm a five foot four and a half inch  _ freshman _ . And I weight maybe like a hundred pounds if I'm wearing all of my coats at once.” He covers his face with his hands. “How am I supposed to explain what happened to the school?”

Selina can't help it, and she really shouldn't, but she laughs a little. “Your problem is that you're  _ too _ good at beating up people.”

Tim looks at her from behind his fingers. “Stop it. This is a serious issue.”

“Well, just say you had help, then.”

“I don't want to get anyone else in trouble.”

From the hall, his schoolbag starts to vibrate. Tim huffs, and walks over to it, and takes out his phone and switches it off. He comes back to the kitchen. “So then I'm sitting in the principal's office, and she keeps asking me who helped me take down those guys, and I just kept saying I did it by myself! But she didn't believe me, so she called  _ him _ up.” He says, sounding miserable again.

“Called who up?”

“Who do you think? Bruce!” He says, throwing his hands up. 

“Ah.” She says.

“If Bruce finds out that I freaked out and beat up five guys by accident, he's going to- I don't know,  _ never let me be Robin again _ ? He made me  _ promise _ to never take part in the track team, or the basketball team, or anything, because if I was too good at something athletic, people would begin to suspect who I was.” 

“And now you're worried that he's going to get mad at you.”

“Mad?  _ Mad _ ? That's an understatement! He's going to be all kinds of  _ furious _ . He's probably going to make me give my robin costume back. So I told the principal I had to go to the bathroom and I jumped out through the ground floor window, and now everyone’s probably looking for me and Bruce is going to disown me and I'll be homeless and unloved and it's going to be the worst.” Tim says. He looks so sad. It also may be possible that he's overreacting slightly.

Selina sighs. She rubs at her forehead. “Okay. You can stay here for a bit. But you have to go home eventually. You know that, right?”

Tim shudders. “Can I at least stay till dinner? Being fired on a full stomach is probably better than nothing."

Selina shrugs. His nose is still bleeding.

Selina puts the peeler down again. “We have to do something about your nose.” She says. She takes an ice pack out from the freezer in the kitchen, and ushers Tim over to table, to sit on one of the chairs. She bends down to his level, kneeling.

“Tilt your head forward,” she says, and Tim does. She pinches his nose gently with her forefinger and thumb, and presses the ice back down on his cheeks and nose.

“Hold it there for ten minutes. Don't peek to see if it's stopped bleeding yet.” She says, handing him the ice pack.

“Okay,” he says thickly, holding the icepack to his nose.

She sits back on her heels. “But why are you  _ here _ ? At my place?”

“Well, once I actually got out of school, I couldn't go back to the manor, and Clark's apartment and Kent farm are too far away. Couldn't go to Steph's place either, 'cause of her asshole dad. Babs would probably call Bruce right away, if I turned up at her place. And then I remembered Bruce's whole index of criminals in Gotham, and I knew that you weren't so bad, so I hacked into the batcave mainframe remotely and got your address and came here.”

“I'm classified as a _ criminal _ on the index?” Selina says, incredulously.

“Only class C level.” Tim offers, sheepish.

“I'm only a class  _ C _ level criminal?” Selina says. That's somehow even worse.

“It's really on the basis of how harmful to the general public you are.” Tim says. He shifts the icepack to the other side of his face. “Joker and Scarecrow get level A. Ventriloquist and Harley Quinn are B. Kiteman’s level C.”

Selina rubs at her temples. “I'm on the same level,” she says, “as  _ Kiteman _ .”

“I kind of like Kiteman.” Tim offers, as a consolation. “He's funny.”

“That's because we laugh  _ at _ him. Not with him.”

Tim shrugs. “I like his. . . outfit?” He says.

Selina sighs. “Class C.” She mutters. “I can't believe it. Stay here and don't bleed on anything.”

She goes back to the kitchen, and comes out with some cat food for Isis. Isis emerges slowly from inside her bedroom, still looking suspiciously at Tim. 

“Your cat doesn't like me very much.” Tim says.

“It's not personal. She hates mostly everyone.” Selina says.

Tim watches as Selina puts out some tuna in a bowl for Isis. With his wrinkled school uniform and bleeding nose, he looks somewhat akin to a kicked puppy. She can see why Bruce wanted to keep him. 

Selina goes back into the kitchen and finishes peeling the potatoes, and chopping them. She starts cooking the onions and celery in chicken stock. The phone rings from the hall again. Tim doesn't bother switching it off, just lets it ring. After a while, she realises Tim's standing at the doorway. He moves quickly and quietly. Reminds her of Bruce. His nose has stopped bleeding.

“Smells good.” Tim says, stepping toward her.

“Mm.” she says.

A few more steps forward. “How come you and Bruce don't talk anymore?” He says.

Selina stops cooking. 

“Because I know the two of you were close. Dick told me.” He says.

After a moment, she remembers she needs to pour in some more chicken stock, and she does. “It's a long story,” she says. “Do you want to help me make this?”

“Yeah,” Tim says quickly. When she looks at him, he shrugs. “I always used to help my nanny cook. We could make a really mean lasagna.” He says, smiling a little.

“Alright,” she says. “Keep stirring this.” She says, and moves away from the pan so that Tim can stand where she was. 

For the next hour or so, they cook in relative silence. They're both just adequate at it. She’s certainly not as good as Alfred, but she definitely isn't as bad at it as Bruce. Mostly she just gets takeout from that Thai place five minutes away.

Tim passes her the salt when she asks for it, or when he asks, she adds some garlic to his pan. They move around like a team, almost, maneuvering through her cramped kitchen deftly. It's nice. Tim's phone rings insistently, atleast twice or thrice in that hour, but he ignores it again. She doesn't say anything about it.

She tastes some of the soup.

“It's pretty good.” She says.

“It's a lot. Way too much for just us.” Tim says, “I mean. If I'm staying for dinner?” He says.

“You can stay. But it's not just for us.”

“Oh. Who's it for?” He says, watching curiously as she pours the soup into a plastic container. She frowns, looking around for the container lid. She saw it just two minutes back. Tim extracts it from underneath a pan and passes it to her.

“Thanks. My neighbor’s daughter,” she says. “Her mom’s a nurse who works an eighteen hour shift on Fridays, so I usually make her dinner then.”

“Oh,” Tim says. He's silent after that. He gives her an inscrutable look.

She puts soup container in a plastic bag. “Want to come along?” She says.

 

Jenna opens the door a crack, the chain still on, just like her mom taught her. “Oh,” she says, relaxing. “Hey, Selina.”

“Hi, kiddo.” Selina says, and smiles. “I made your favourite.”

Jenna grins. She's missing her front two teeth. Her tenth birthday was two weeks ago. “Potato and bacon soup?”

“Potato and bacon soup.” Selina says.

“Awesome.” She says, and unlatches the door chain.

“How's Ellen?”

“Mom's okay. She said she'll be back before morning.” She pauses when she sees Tim standing behind Selina, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Oh. Who's this?”

“This is Tim. He got into trouble for punching five people, so he ran away from school and came here.” Selina says.

Jenna smiles wide, the gap in her teeth on full view. “Cool!” She says. “Come in.”

 

Tim props his chin up on his hand, looking at her. They're back from Jenna's flat, (after she'd ordered Tim to provide all the details about the fight,) and now they're sitting on her sofa, watching some inane nature documentary before dinner. Something about wildebeests. Bruce would have watched it with rapt attention, if he'd been here. That was just the way he was. He always did everything like it was a church rite. Once she'd seen him make an omelette for her for almost an hour in her kitchen, his brow furrowed in concentration. Only Batman could be that intense, making breakfast foods.

He'd also forgotten to add the salt. But that was okay. Not everyone could be good at everything.

“You know,” Tim says, startling Selina out of her thoughts, “you're actually, like, a pretty good person.”

Selina snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

“I mean it! I mean, I always thought you were a petty thief, and-”

“There is nothing  _ petty _ about what I do.”

“-but you actually make dinner for your neighbour’s kid sometimes, and you're letting me stay here, and you haven't even called Bruce up yet. Most people would've by now, you know.”

“Yeah.” She says. A part of her is scared that if she does try to call him, he won't pick up.

“Thanks, Selina.” Tim is saying.

“You're welcome.” She looks over at him. He's still in that school uniform, his hair all messy and unkempt. “Do you want to take a shower?” She says.

“I don't have a change of clothes.” He says.

“I have some of Bruce's old shirts.” She says.

Tim scrunches up his nose, and then realises that doing that still hurts, and stops. “He's like, five sizes bigger than me.” He says.

Selina gets up, extending a hand to Tim. “We'll find you something. Come on.”

He gets up and follows after her, and she gives him one of Bruce's old shirts and a pair of sweats from the back of her closet and ushers him to the bathroom.

Outside, in the hall, Tim's phone is ringing. Isis stares at it balefully. Selina sighs, and switches it off. 

 

*

 

He'd come in through the fire escape too, that night. 

Isis had purred, seeing him. She'd always liked Bruce.

“Bat?” She'd said, pulling her robe on. It was the middle of the night, and she'd been asleep. “What's wrong?”

He was just standing there, in the centre of her living room. Deathly still.

“You heard.” Was the only thing he'd said. He'd had dark circles under his eyes. Like he hadn't gotten any sleep. And he'd forgotten to shave. He never forgot to do anything.

“Yes,” Selina said quietly. Slowly. “Everyone's heard. It was in the news.”

He was quiet for a long time. So long almost, that she was about to speak, when he said, “Happy birthday.”

Selina looked at him. “My birthday was two weeks ago.” She said.

Bruce looked tired. “Sorry I missed it.” He said finally. 

“Don't be.” She said. “Sit down. I'll make you some coffee.”

He sat down, his shoulders slumping. She knelt on the floor in front of him, her hands on his knees. “How are you feeling?” She whispered.

He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were dark and empty. She couldn't see anything in them. He was quiet for a long time. She waited.

“I still have his library card.” He said. His voice sounded broken.

Selina inhaled, and the air in her lungs felt like shards of glass, sharp and hard. 

“Bruce. . .” She started to say, but he was already shaking his head.

“I don't think we can do this anymore,” he said. 

“What are you talking about?” She breathed. 

He looked at her then, and there was something hard in the line of his jaw. In his eyes. “Everyone I love goes away. My parents are gone. Dick left. And now this. Aren't you beginning to think there's a pattern?”

“So you'll just insulate yourself from everyone?”

Bruce shrugged. 

Selina touched his face. Her hands on that jaw that he'd forgotten to shave. “You think this is your fault. This is not your fault.” She said.

He put a hand over hers. 

“Isn't it?” He said.

She sat back and looked at him, taking her hand off his cheek. “Stay here.” She said. “I'm going to make you some coffee, and then we'll talk, okay?” 

He nodded, looking down again. She'd forgotten to switch on any lights. She could barely see him, save the side of his face illuminated by the streetlights from outside her window. He looked- he looked like he'd given up.

She went over to the kitchen, feeling her way through the dark. She didn't make him the coffee. Instead, she clutched at the countertop with her hands, and closed her eyes. For some reason, she was trembling all over. She stood there for a long time. 

When she came back out, Bruce was already gone. 

 

The next few months she barely saw him, and when she did, it was always on rooftops, in the night. He didn't chuckle or tease her anymore. He didn't make fun of how she was scared of rats. It was all gone.

Instead, his mouth went hard and he would turn away, and he say things like, “Catwoman, go home.”

One time he actually arrested her. 

It happened three months after that day he'd come to her apartment in the middle of the night. She was running hard, feeling that satisfying ache in her muscles, a small, priceless Harappan clay seal in the pouch slung around her waist. He was running hard too, behind her. She could see him in her peripheral vision. He was slowly gaining on her. She smiled. These were the moments she lived for. The thrill of it all, the adrenaline, the liquid rush that shot through her bloodstream. The feel of the gravel under her boots, and the cold shock of air whipping past her as she swung across the rooftops of impossibly high buildings. 

She could see him now. Bruce. He was almost on her now. Right behind her. He'd almost caught her. They had done this many times before. He'd catch her and then let her go, and she'd run again, knowing he was hot in pursuit behind her. Something in her trembled with joy. Maybe he was getting better again. Maybe he was going to be the way he was, before. The way he had always been. She would hold onto him tight and he'd tease her about it but she would just shake her head and-

Something caught her legs. A hand, maybe. It pushed her down roughly onto the hard cement surface, and the priceless Harappan clay seal in her pouch broke. She could hear the sharp _ crack _ sound it had made. Millions of dollars crumbling into dirt on a dirty rooftop in shitty part of the city.

She was so shocked for a moment that she could hardly hear what he was saying.

“I told you to go home,” Batman growled. He was handcuffing her, pulling her wrists behind her back roughly. He was actually  _ arresting _ her. She just stared at him. 

“You should have listened.” He said.

 

She stayed out of his way after that. They didn't see each other again.

 

A few more months, and he was in the news again. There had been some sort of an accident, and a man called Jack Drake had slipped into a coma. Bruce Wayne had applied to be his thirteen year old son's legal guardian for the time being. She had read about it in the newspaper, and felt irrationally angry. She thought about that night in her apartment. Him sitting on her sofa, looking more defeated than she'd ever seen him. 

_ Everyone I love goes away _ , he'd said.

What about Tim Drake then? Was he an exception?

She'd put away the newspaper then, because she'd realised she was jealous of a thirteen year old  _ boy _ .

So she put it out of her mind, and tried not to think about it anymore.

Until today.

  
  


_ * _

  
  


Tim comes out of her bathroom, his hair wet and curling at the ends. The shirt he has on is ridiculously large for him.

She's still sitting on the sofa, and she looks up at him. “You hungry?” She says, and gets up and pours him some soup in mug.

He holds in out in front of him with both hands, and puts his face in front of it, the steam wafting up to it.

“It's good.” He says, after sipping some of it.

“ _ You _ made it.” Selina says.

“I helped.”

She shrugs. He drinks more soup.

“Tim,” she says, after a few minutes. “I think it's time for you to answer your phone.”

Tim sighs. “I was thinking you'd say that, eventually. Do I have to?” 

“You don't have to do anything. But I think he's probably worried sick by now. It's almost nine. You've spent five hours here.” 

Isis slinks up to Tim slowly, and jumps up onto the sofa, curling down next to him. He scratches the back of her ears and she purrs. 

Selina can see Tim arranging his face to something brave. “Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I'll do it.”

He puts the mug down, and takes his phone out from his bag pack. He gives it a wary look, and then looks at Selina.

“Go on,” she says.

Tim sighs, and presses a contact button. He puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He says.

A pause. She can hear a voice saying something on the other end.

Tim bites his lip. “Yeah. I'm at Selina Kyle’s house. Yeah, B. Long story.” He's quiet again. The voice on the other end says something else.

“I'm sorry,” Tim says, his voice small. “Look, if you want to ground me or bench me, it's okay. I probably deserve it, but can I-” he stops, and frowns. Another pause. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, I promise.” He shifts a little. “No, I already ate. Yeah. She made dinner. Okay. Bye.” the voice on the other end pauses, and then says something.

Tim looks at her, blushing, and mumbles a quick “I love you too,” and hangs up.

Selina smiles. “See? That went pretty well, right?” 

“He wasn't as mad as I thought he'd be. Just kind of worried.” Tim says, looking relieved. “He’s picking me up in fifteen minutes. I don't think he's going to fire me.”

“I knew he wouldn't.”

Tim slumps across her sofa. “I'm so relieved I think I might actually take a nap,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Not until you've helped me clean up, you're not.”

Tim sighs. “Alfred never makes me clean up.”

“Then it's a good thing I'm not Alfred. Get up.” She says.

Tim gets up and walks over to the kitchen. She follows after him, and he starts putting the pots and pans into the sink. 

“I'm going to make sure Bruce talks to you,” he tells her.

Selina leans against the countertop. It's dark now, and she can see the streetlights from outside the window. 

“I don't need you to do that,” she hears herself say. She sounds awfully confident.

“I'm getting him to come around slowly, you know.” He says. “He was in a bad place. Earlier, I mean.”

“I should have been there for him,” she says. She doesn't look away from the window. The streetlights blur in her eyes. “I should've done something.”

Tim smiles at her. It's a kind smile. “You know Bruce,” he says. “He won't let anyone get within a thirty mile radius of himself when he gets that way. Unless you threaten to knock down his door with incriminating information about his secret identity, or something.” He has a little dimple in his cheek when he smiles, Selina notices. 

“I can see why he likes you,” she says.

Tim shrugs. ”Being alone, it's not good for anyone.” 

“He's not alone,” Selina says, looking away from the window, and putting away the herbs in the spice rack. “He has you, and Dick. And Alfred.”

Tim shakes his head. “Dick's barely around. He's in Bludhaven all the time. Got a job there, now.”

“There's still you.”

Tim looks at her, and for the first time, it occurs to her that he really does love Bruce quite a lot. His eyes flick down. “I'm not enough,” he says. 

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” She says.

“I just- I mean,” he pauses. “It's really hard to live up to Jason, sometimes.” He says. 

He sits down on the counter across the one that Selina's leaning on. “Sometimes I think Bruce forgets during patrol. That I'm not Jason. And he- I don't know. He looks happy again. And then I say something, or he looks at me, and then he remembers.” He's fidgeting with the too-loose shirt, bunching and un-bunching the loose material in his hands. “It’s- he gets a lot quieter. It's kind of like watching a balloon deflate.”

Selina tilts her head again. There's something tight in her chest.

Tim looks up at her. “I don't want you to feel bad for me or anything. I mean, I know that he loves me a lot and all. It's just. . . tough to compare to the gold standard.”

She sits down on the counter next to him. “You know, Jason used to say the same thing about Dick.”

“Yeah, well. Dick isn't  _ dead _ .”

“No, he's not.” Selina says. She rests her head against the cupboards. “But maybe you're the gold standard too. You were there for Bruce when no one was. Not me, not Dick. Just you. That counts for something.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “I guess it does.”

  
  


_ * _

 

When the doorbell rings, Tim looks at her anxiously.

“I'll get it.” She tell him. And then pauses. “Look, he's going to be okay with it. Really. This one time, back when Dick was a little older than you, he came home with a huge dent in the batmobile. The repairs cost at least fifty grand. Bruce didn't say a thing.”

“Exactly!” Tim hisses, looking at the door. “He doesn't say anything, and you just feel shittier.”

Selina shrugs, a little helplessly, and goes to open the door. She's a little scared too. She hasn't seen him in so long. Months and months.

She opens the door. Bruce is standing outside. He's in a polo shirt. Must be casual day at the office. It's open at the throat, and she can't stop herself from looking at the exposed skin. She swallows.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi."

He shifts a little. It's obvious that he's uncomfortable as well. “May I come in,” he says.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sit down. Or don't. Whatever. It's up to you.” She says, and makes herself stop talking. She's babbling. She never does that. “I'll just, uh, get Tim.”

Bruce says okay.

She goes back into the kitchen. “He's here,” she says, slightly unnecessarily.

Tim exhales. “Okay.” He says, and walks to the living room bravely. She follows after him. 

“Tim,” Bruce says. 

“Hey, B.” Tim mumbles, not quite meeting his eyes. But Bruce is already going up to him, and examining every inch of his face and arms. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking at Tim's slightly red nose worriedly.

“What?” Tim says. He sounds surprised.

“The school told me there were injuries sustained. Are you okay?” Bruce says.

“Um, I think it was the other guys they were talking about.” Tim says. “I had a nosebleed, but it was pretty mino-”

Bruce hugs him.

“Oh,” Tim says. He sounds  _ really _ surprised.

“We'll talk about this later. But right now I'm really glad you're alright.” Bruce says, rubbing Tim's back.

“Oh,” Tim says again. He seems incapable of saying much more.

“And you need to pick up my calls. I think I filled up your voicemail.” 

“I'm sorry,” Tim says, muffled into Bruce's shirt. 

“It's okay.” Bruce says. “I talked to your principal, and you're getting a three day suspension, but you can go back to school after that.”

Tim looks up at Bruce. “You're not firing me?”

“What?” Bruce says, looking confused.

“From being Robin. Because I broke one of the rules.” 

Bruce frowns. “Well, I  _ am _ a little angry, and you're probably grounded for the next week or so, but I'm not going to stop you from being Robin.” He says. “Remember what you told me?”

Tim smiles shyly. “Batman  _ needs _ a Robin.” He says. Bruce smiles back. 

Selina leans against the wall. “Alright,” she says, “now that you two have made up, please be reminded that my apartment isn't a hotel.”

Tim turns to Bruce. “I think she's telling us to get out.”

Bruce looks at her, his mouth soft around the edges. “Possibly,” he says, and she swallows again.

Tim looks between the two of them. “I'll uh, get my bag pack and stuff.” He says, and practically flees to the other room. 

Isis rouses from her nap on the sofa and purrs loudly at Bruce. Bruce leans over and scratches her ears. Isis almost collapses against him in delight, and Selina has the urge to roll her eyes.

“Look,” Bruce starts saying, “I'm-”

“Don't,” Selina says. “It's okay. It's really okay.”

Bruce runs a weary hand through his hair. “That night, when I said those things, I didn't want to hurt you. I just,” he pauses. “I wasn't in a good place.” 

Hearing him actually  _ admit _ it breaks her heart a little.

“And I think I'm better now,” Bruce is saying. “Or at least, I hope so.”

“Tim. He's helping.” Selina says.

“Yeah.” Bruce smiles a little. She hasn't seen that smile in so long, something warm untwists itself inside her chest. “He's been taking care of me.”

“Good. I'm glad.” She says. 

Bruce looks around a little. “I can smell potato soup.” He says. 

Selina laughs. “I made some for dinner.”

“For Jenna Briggs in 504?” He says.

Selina smiles. “You still remember.” She says.

Bruce snorts. “You can't forget things like that when you get a booty call on a Friday evening alongside an additional request to pick up eight potatoes from a grocery store on the way.”

“Please don’t say ‘Booty call' when your thirteen year old son is in your general vicinity. Also,” she says, “You can't complain about buying me vegetables anymore. I heard you bought a Caribbean island.”

“It was just a small one,” Bruce says, and Selina laughs. 

And just like that, things are the way they were again.

  
  



	4. The High Priestess of Ur

There's some sort of demonic witch-priestess hexing half of Gotham.

“Go _away_ , crazy magic lady!” She hears Tim yell as he throws a batarang at her. They're battling her on top of one of the mammoth skyscrapers in the Financial district in the middle of the night, and all Selina can see in the darkness are flashes of green lightning, capes flying by her, and an occasional djinn popping up out of nowhere to punch things and then explode back into dust and sand.

Selina sighs. Just an average Tuesday, then.

The witch-priestess looks at Tim with anger, easily deflecting the batarang with a wave of her hand. “Crazy _magic lady_? How _dare_ you call me that, low mortal! You are barely fit to be the dirt under my shoes. I am Enheduana of Ur, daughter of king Sargon of Akkad and the divine high priestess of the goddess Inanna and the moon god Nanna. Bow down before me, or die!”

“Oh boy,” Steph mutters under her breath, dodging another green flash of lightning. “This one's got an ego.”

“I _heard_ that!” High priestess Enheduana says, whirling around and summoning another spirit to charge at Steph.

“Dammnit,” Steph says, and takes off running, the djinn hot on her heels.

Selina dodges another flash of lightning that the High Priestess directs her way, and looks around for Bruce. Where _is_ he?

She hears him before she sees him. The sound of his cape whipping through the wind. He leaps at the High Priestess from on top of a gargoyle, but she shouts in frustration, and with another wave of her hand, she knocks him back again a wall fifty feet away. Hard.

She winces as she hears a sickening crack of bone. Bruce grunts, collapsed against a wall. She starts to go over to him, but then he shakes his head and points at something behind her. Some _one_.

The High Priestess has turned her attention to Selina, sceptre in hand. There's a mean glint in her eyes.

“Look,” Selina says, holding up her hands. “I’m honestly just with them 'cause I'm going out with their dad. Spending quality bonding time with the kids always looks good, you know.”

The High priestess’s lip curls in disgust. “You bring shame to your name by admitting disloyalty.”

“Hey!” Selina says, offended. “I _am_ loyal. In fact, just last week, this really sexy guy in an art gallery I was walking around in asked me out. Did I say yes? Nope. And I knew he was smart too, because he was appreciating a really fine piece of neo-expressionist art, and he was nice and polite, which is more than I can say for _some_ men that I've gone out with, but I still-”

Cass sneaks up behind the High priestess and jabs the back of her neck with a fist. She crumples down to the floor in a heap.

“Nice diversion,” Tim says, coming up from behind them, panting slightly. Steph's trailing behind him, clutching at an injured shoulder. They must have dealt with the rest of the summoned djinn.

“Thank you.” Selina says. “Good work, Cass.”

Cass smiles.

The four of them look down at the High Priestess Enheduana of Ur. She's drooling slightly. Sleeping like a baby.

“D’you think that if we draw a moustache on her face, she’ll try to turn us into frogs or something?” Tim says, after minute.

“Probably.” Selina says.

Cass shrugs.

“We should try anyway,” Steph says.

Selina snorts. And then she remembers. “Bruce,” she breathes.

They run over to Bruce, who's still lying there near the wall that the High Priestess threw him against.

“I hate magic.” He tells her, when she crouches down next to him. His leg is twisted at an odd angle. Must be two fractures, minimum.

She puts a hand on his jaw. “You poor baby.” She says, and she’s only half joking. “At least it wasn't your neck she broke,” she adds, reassuringly.

“At least there's that.” Bruce says, his voice dry. He doesn't appear to be in any pain, but then again, she knows that he's always been a good actor. He doesn't like to show that he's ever in any pain in front of his kids.

“Let's get you back to the batcave, B.” Tim says, putting one of Bruce's arms over his shoulder and helping him up.

“And what do we do about her?” Steph says, turning back to look at the High Priestess. She’s still lying on the ground, her ceremonial robes spooled around her in a heap.

“Take her to Gordon. They'll detain her until they figure out where she's from and what she's doing here,” Bruce grits out, limping towards the terrace door, leaning heavily on Tim. “Tim, with me. We need to conduct some primary research. I don't want us to be blindsided this way again.”

“And what about me and Cass?” Selina says. “Do we just stand here and look pretty?”

Cass smiles again. “I _am_ pretty.” She says, and Steph nods encouragingly.

Bruce grunts again, partly from frustration this time. It makes Selina smile. “The two of you can deal with _that_.” He says, pointing. They turn to look. He's looking at the High Priestess's sceptre.

“It seems to be the source of most of her power,” Bruce says. “I have a feeling it’s not something that can stay contained in the GCPD evidence locker for very long.”

They look at the sceptre. It's pulsing faintly.

“Destroy it?” Cass says.

“ _Can_ it be destroyed?” Steph says, looking at it dubiously.

“I doubt it,” Bruce says. “That jewel on top, the ruby. Try removing that from the staff. Might be that the ruby's the object fused with the powers.”

“Alright,” Selina says, and Cass turns to her, giving her an odd look.

“Alright.” Bruce says, gritting his teeth and starting to walk down the stairwell slowly. He stops halfway down. Turns a little.

“Did a man really ask you out in an art gallery last week?” He says, and in her peripheral vision, she can see Steph roll her eyes.

Selina smirks. She leans against the terrace door. “Sweetheart, men ask me out every day of the week. One day, if you end up getting your neck snapped after all, I might even say yes to a few.”

“Aww,” Tim says. “For Selina, that was actually kind of romantic. It implied a whole 'I’ll be with you till death’ angle.”

Bruce sighs. “The sentiment is appreciated.” He says.

Selina smiles winningly. “Thank you. Now, if we're all done with the chitchat,” she turns to Cass, “let's get to work.”

 

*

 

“You want to keep the ruby,” Cass says.

Selina looks at her. They're walking down a shitty alley in the Bowery, the sceptre wrapped in a thick blanket, courtesy of Alfred. The pulsing looks less obvious, that way.

“Maybe,” Selina says. “It _is_ a nice ruby. And I'm not hurting anyone.”

Cass frowns. “Bruce won't like it.”

“No he won't.” Selina says. “Bruce doesn't like about sixty-seven percent of what I do.”

Cass just frowns again.

“Do we have a problem?” Selina says, after a bit.

“No,” Cass says slowly. “I am not my father. I am not. . .” She pauses, trying to find the right word.

“A stuck-up asshole,” Selina offers.

Cass smiles, but shakes her head. “An idealist.”

“Good word,” Selina says, impressed.

Cass inclines her head, proud. “When I was growing up, I did. . . bad things. Worse than stealing rubies.”

“So you don't mind?”

“If no one gets hurt.”

“No one's going to get hurt.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Selina says, and they reach the end of the lane. “We're here.”

Cass looks around. “Where is. . . _here_?”

“A contact of mine. A specialist. He makes sure everything I, well, _acquire_ , is legitimate.” she bangs at the last door on the building.  

“Who is it?” Says a voice from the other side.

“Selina. I have something to show you.” Selina says.

The door cracks open. A young man on the other side looks through the crack, at her and Cass. “Uh,” he says, “who's that?”

“A friend. You gonna let us in or not, Micky?” They're wearing civvies, so he won't know who Cass is.

Micky pauses for a second. “Alright. Fine.” He opens the door the rest of the way.

Selina and Cass walks into the small workshop. Inside, Micky’s been working on a project. His worktable is littered with strange electronics, and even stranger artifacts. She sees a broadsword leaning precariously on a spectroscope on one of the counters.

“Micky used to be a gemmologist at GMAA. But then Scarecrow blew up his office, so he decided to shift to black market.” Selina says to Cass.

“There's more money in it, at least. Puts food on the table.” Micky smiles ruefully. “Even if you meet some unsavoury characters, from time to time.” He says, looking pointedly at Selina.

“Ha ha.” Selina says. She tosses the sceptre wrapped in the comforter to him. Micky catches it with one hand.

“What is it?” He says, unwrapping the blanket slowly.

“See for yourself.”

Micky holds his breath. “That's definitely real.” He says, looking at the fist sized ruby on top of the sceptre. “But why is it— _moving_.”

“It's pulsing. It's magical.” Selina says.

“Oh,” Micky says faintly.

Selina snorts. “Don't swoon and hit your head. We need you to remove it.”

“ _Remove_ the ruby?” Micky says, frowning, “But why? The staff looks like a precious alloy of some sort. The handiwork and ornamentation looks like, I don't even know, _Bronze_ age era? Late Sumerian, maybe. It's worth at least a million if the whole thing is sold as one piece.”

Selina whistles.

“We want to separate it.” Cass says urgently. “The magic. . . is not good.”

“Yeah,” Selina says. “It broke her father's leg.”

“Oh damn,” Micky says. “That's pretty cool. Uh, not in a good way,” he adds, when Cass glares at him. “In a very bad way. In a horrible way.”

“So?” Selina says. “Can you do it?”

Micky looks around his workstation, as if to point out the mess to them. “You know, I'm actually kind of in the middle of something. This buyer wants me to take a look at this great Viking broadsword, and they're saying it belonged to King–”

“We'll pay you fifty grand. Upfront.” Selina says.

Micky doesn't even pause. “Okay.” He says. “Cool. I'll do it.”

“How soon can you get it done?”

“Uh, Friday? I'll probably have to use a laser cutter.”

Selina looks at Cass. Cass shrugs.

“Fine.” Selina says.

 

When they leave the workshop, and walk back up the alley, Cass turns to Selina. “How. . . the money?” She's talking about the fifty thousand.

Selina smiles. “This is how it usually works. I sell the ruby to a buyer, and then Micky usually gets a cut for polishing or cleaning or whatever. And so does whoever who got me the gig in the first place. And then we all get to go out and buy seaside villas in Malibu with our hard-earned cash. Honour among thieves, and all that.”

“Oh,” Cass says. She's silent for a while, walking back to the main Bowery square. It's been pissing rain for the last three days, and everywhere is wet.

“I want a cut too.” Cass says.

Selina stops walking. “What?”

Cass blushes, but looks defiant. “I want a cut too.”

Selina raises her eyebrows. “Your father is a billionaire. You don't need a cut.”

Cass shifts slightly. “I need to buy something.”

“That Bruce can't know about?”

Cass nods.

Selina narrows her eyes. “Are you getting into drugs?”

Cass frowns. “ _No_.” She says.

“Oh,” Selina says, relaxing. “What then?”

Cass shifts again. For the first time, Selina realises that it might be discomfort.

“I need,” Cass says, taking a deep breath, “a dress.”

“A dress.” Selina repeats.

Cass nods again.

“Why do you need to buy a secret dress that Bruce can't know about?”

Cass exhales. “There's a boy.” She says.

“Ah,” Selina says, smiling.

Cass smiles her small smile. “Homecoming dance.” She says.

“Really? I didn't know you went to high school.”

“Homeschooled.”

“So it's _his_ homecoming dance that he's invited you to.” Selina says.

“We met in speech therapy.” Cass says. “His name is Ryan.”

“Huh,” Selina says, grinning again. “Look at you, Cass, with your smooth moves.”

Cass smiles. She looks almost proud. “That's what Steph said.”

“So Bruce can't know. . . because?”

Cass rolls her eyes. “He loves me. But sometimes, too much.”

Selina laughs. “So you think he'll ask a billion questions and expect you to be home by nine.” She pauses. “and he’ll probably try to get his social security number and look him up on all the government watchlists.”

Cass shrugs. She moves like a panther, Selina thinks. In fast fluid movements that look almost liquid in their form and grace.

“He's Batman.” Cass says. “So yes.”

“He does it because he cares.” Selina says, still laughing. “But it can get pretty annoying.”

“Once,” Cass says, “He tried to get Dick's girlfriend to do a DNA swab test.”

Selina can't. She just stops walking, and puts her hands on her knees so she can laugh harder. “No way,” she chokes out.

“Yes,” Cass says gravely.

Selina takes a deep breath, still laughing. “So you need a cut for dress money.”

Cass nods.

“Okay,” Selina says, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “Okay, you'll get a cut."

 

*

 

When she reaches the private hospital room, Bruce is sitting up in bed and eating a sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs, and Cass is sitting by his bedside and twining something around his wrist.

Selina leans against the door. “I got you flowers,” she says, holding up bunch of petunias.

Bruce shakes his head, but his mouth twitches upwards. “Thank you,” he says, acerbically.

Cass looks at the flowers in interest. Selina hands them to her. “What are you doing?” She says, looking at the bedazzled hospital wristband on Bruce's wrist.

“She's making me a friendship bracelet.” Bruce says, looking at Cass fondly.

Cass picks out some of the flowers from the bunch, making chains out of them and adding them to Bruce's wristband.

“Any news?” Selina asks.

“The High Priestess is in lockup.” Bruce says. He sighs, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. “God, that sounds ridiculous.”

Selina sits down on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding his cast, and patting Bruce's shoulder consolingly. “Cheer up, babe. Your entire life is kind of ridiculous.” She says.

“Thanks, Selina.” Bruce says.

Cass looks over at Bruce. “Pass the glitter.” She says.

Bruce leans over to the bedside table and hands her a small, shiny box. “The nurse is not going to be happy about this.” He says, gesturing to his ruined wristband.

Cass just shrugs, going back to sticking petunias in the little punched out holes in the plastic.

“Anyway,” Selina says to Cass, “how come you're here? Visiting hours are over, I had to sneak past the nurses to come here. Don't they kick you out at night?”

Cass smiles again. “They can try,” Bruce says, looking at her fondly again.

“I'm a ninja.” Cass says matter-of-factly.

Selina laughs. “That you are.” She says.

Bruce's phone rings, on the bedside table. He picks it up and listen for a second, to the voice on the other end. He frowns.

“Bad news,” Cass whispers, looking at her.

“It was Tim,” Bruce says, getting off the call. “The High Priestess, she got out of lockup somehow. The on-duty officers all had a sudden urge to comply with her demands.” He says, sighing. “She broke into some place in the Bowery and vandalised the place. A studio apartment listed under a–”

“Micky Watson.” She says. Cass looks up at her.

Bruce stares. “Yeah.”

Selina sighs. “Damn it. We left the sceptre with him.”

“You left a magical object with a civilian?”

“He's a _capable_ civilian, Bruce. He was a gemologist in the–”

“He could have died.”

Selina scoffs. “No, he wouldn't have. Give me a break.”

“Selina you _know_ how dangerous–”

“Stop it.” Cass says, and they both stop. She stands up from her chair near the side of the bed. “We'll find her.”

Bruce is rubbing at his temple. “I can't do anything. I'm stuck here.” He says.

“We'll do it.” Selina says, looking at Cass. “Me and her. It was my mistake anyway, leaving the sceptre where she could find it.We'll find this High Priestess”

Cass nods.

Bruce sighs. “Okay.” He says. “But don't get yourselves killed. I'm in enough trouble with Alfred about the leg anyway. I can't be seen going around endangering family members, now.”

“Okay.” Selina says, and Cass nods again. She leaves the room, picking up her bag pack.

“I'll catch you in the hospital reception,” Selina says, when Cass looks at her expectantly. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

When Cass is gone, she looks at Bruce. He raises an eyebrow. No one wearing a hospital gown should be able to look so condescending. “What?” He says.

She tilts her head. “You said endangering family mem _bers._ ” She says.

Bruce swallows. She looks at the strong lines of his throat. “I know what I said,” he says, a little roughly.

Selina comes a little closer to him. His skin is always hot to touch. “You always do, don't you?” She says, smiling a little. Bruce nods.

She puts her hand on the side of his face, and Bruce closes his eyes. She kisses him. “Take care of that leg, now.” She says softly.

Bruce says okay.

 

*

 

On the way to Micky's workshop, Cass gets an email from Tim. She hands over the phone to Selina. “Information.” She says. Selina looks at the email. Cass wants her to read it out, Selina realises. She does.

“In Mesopotamian society, in the cities of Nineveh, Uruk and Ur,” Selina pauses. “That's where she said she was from, right? Ur.”

Cass nods.

Selina continues to read out loud. “Priests and Priestesses were equals to the king in power and honor. They were mediators between the gods and the people. Ordinary Mesopotamians looked to the priesthood to gain the favor of the gods, especially the patron god or goddess of their city.” She pauses. “She's from the past?”

Cass shrugs, and gestures for her to go on.

Selina does. “Priests and priestesses had many duties and responsibilities, and in exchange they received respect, honor and creature comforts. They would often help their subjects by healing them with their magic.” Selina reads The word _magic_ is in single quotes, as if the concept of it is still dubious to whatever website Tim has fished it out of.

She gives the phone back to Cass. “So what do you think? Time travel?”

Cass nods. “Wrong spell.” She says.

Selina's mouth quirks up. “That's a hell of a wrong spell.” she says.

“She's. . . confused.” Cass says.

“She's not in her own time. I'd be feeling pretty crazy about it too.” Selina agrees. “Although I probably wouldn't start hexing people. What did Tim say, she was last seen at the Botanical Gardens?”

Cass nods gravely. “Sacrificing plants to the gods.”

“Pam's not going to be happy about that.” Selina says.

They've come up to Micky's workshop. The door that he'd cracked open so suspiciously a few days back is split in half right down its middle. Selina winces.

She steps in slowly. “Micky?” She calls out. Cass is behind her, scoping the area.

The whole place is a mess. All of his electronic equipment has been smashed and totalled. The broadsword he'd been working on has been plunged into his notes and files. There are loose papers scattered everywhere. The walls bear scorch marks at seemingly random spots. Scorch marks she's now grown to associate with that green lightning the High Priestess throws around.

Micky slowly emerges from somewhere behind all the rubble. “Hey guys,” he says weakly. “I'm sorry, but the crazy sorceress lady came here and took her staff back. So you guys will probably want a refund.”

“Are you okay?” Selina asks, anxiously.

Micky scratches the back of his head. “Uh. Yeah. She was pretty insane but she didn't want to hurt me. Just wanted her stuff back, I think.”

Selina looks at the place and sucks in a breath. “This is all my fault, Mick. I shouldn't have given you that thing in the first place. I didn't know how dangerous it would be.”

Micky shrugs a little shyly. “S’okay. Been thinking about remodeling the place anyway.” He says.

Meanwhile, Cass has been looking around the workshop. She traces a hand over Micky's spectroscope, which, oddly enough, has been left unharmed. She points at it, and looks at Micky questioningly.

“Oh, yeah. That.” Micky says, laughing a little nervously. “Uh, I was kind of hiding under the table near it, and she kept throwing like, lightning at all my stuff? So I pretty much figured out who she was, and what she wanted, and I told her the sceptre was in that locker,” he says, pointing to a chest in a corner of the room. He bites his lip, guilty. “Sorry, guys.” He says again.

“She would have killed you.” Cass says solemnly, as a way of accepting his apology.

“Uh. Yeah. So, I was kind of cowering near the tables here, and she started coming up to me, so I put my hands up and told her to please not ruin any of my equipment, ‘cause I didn't have the money to buy it all again, you know? And then she, I don't know. She kind of paused, and tilted her head, and said “Equipment?” like she didn't know what it meant.”

“She's from the past.” Cass says, as an explanation.

“We think it was a spell that went wrong.” Selina adds.

Mickey raises his eyebrows. “Oh. Okay, then. I mean. It sounds crazy, but it does kind of explain what she did next.”

“What did she do next?” Selina asks.

“She asked me what I meant by 'equipment’, so I got out from under the table and I showed her my spectroscope. It's the most expensive thing I have here, anyway.”

“And?” Selina says.

“She was. . . fascinated.” Micky says. “And she said something about gods blessing us with incredible gifts, or something? It was really weird. And then she just left.”

“Huh.” Selina says. The three of them look at the spectroscope. “So she likes technology.”

“I guess.’ Micky says.

Selina looks at Cass. It strikes her suddenly. An idea. “I have a plan.” She says.

 

*

 

They sneak up along the edge of the Botanical Gardens, staying close to the fence. It's dark outside, and no one's here. The crew abandoned it after the High Priestess threatened to turn them into sheep. They're in their costumes. Cass has her mask on. In the darkness, she looks less like a human and more like an otherwordly creature. Her actions are all sharp and pointed and deliberate. A shadow in the nighttime.  

“Along here,” Selina whispers, pointing. There's a trail of scorched earth leading to a tourist visitor centre. The booth, usually selling souvenirs, now seems to be occupied by a something considerably less mundane. If anything, the flashes of coloured light and muted chanting give it away.

Selina shifts the weight of the package that she's carrying to another arm. Her and Cass have been doing some shopping.

Cass opens the door to the small enclosure. “Who dares to be in the presence of High Priestess Enheduanna of Ur, daughter to–”

“Save it, lady.” Selina says.

The High Priestess trails off into shocked silence. She's actually pretty young. Not bad looking either, with those long flowing locks and that angular face. She narrows her kohl-rimmed eyes at Selina. The tips of her fingers start smouldering slightly, and both Cass and Selina take a deliberate step back.

“ _You_.” She says, in that loud commanding voice. “ _You_ got me locked up at that- that dungeon!”

“It was just a holding cell. Calm down.” Selina says, trying to keep her tone even.

“It was fit for _slaves_! I am a _Goddess_ , my people _worship_ me! And now you _dare_ try to put me in a prison? And that wretched, mustachioed man,–”

“Gordon.” Selina says.

“–he tried to make me wear some ghastly thing that was the colour of a rotting pumpkin pissed on by hyenas.” She says, sounding outraged.

“Oh, you mean a prison jumpsuit? Yeah, they usually do that. Not that your whole look isn't good.” Selina says, looking at her toga, cinched at the waist with a large gold brooch, and the ornamental headdress. “It's just not really . . . an every day look.”

The High Priestess sniffs. “At least I'm not walking around in skin tight leather.” She turns her attention to Cass. “And what are you supposed to be, with that ridiculous cape. Some kind of warrior princess?”

“Yes.” Cass says, angling her chin up.

Selina tries not to laugh. “We, uh, got you something. A gift.”

The High Priestess narrows her eyes again, looking doubly suspicious.

“Consider it a sign of goodwill.” Selina says, handing her the package. “Here, you can just peel off the tape here and–”

The High Priestess murmurs an incantation under her breath and the package falls open.

“Or you could just do that.” Selina says, slightly uselessly.

Inside, there is a slender gray tube. “It's called an Amazon Echo.” Selina explains.

The High Priestess peers warily at it. “What does it. . . do?” She says hesitantly.

“It's like–,” Selina pauses. How do you explain the internet to a Bronze age era sorceress?

“A djinn.” Cass says.

Selina nods. “Yes. Exactly. Like a djinn. It carries out your commands.”

The High Priestesses curls her lip in disgust. “All my djinn are useless. I asked them to age my _wine_ by two thousand years, not the _world_. And look where I am. Some dump of a city. Where are all your ziggurats, anyway?”

“We have skyscrapers instead.” Selina says, apologetic. “Anyway,” she says, holding out the Echo. “You have to say ‘Alexa’.”

The device lights up immediately, and in spite of herself, the High Priestess looks fascinated.

“I'll go first, okay?” Selina says. “Alexa, what's the weather like?”

“It is 62.6 degrees Fahrenheit. Cloudy, with a chance of light drizzling in the afternoon.”

The High Priestess stares, enraptured. “It's _female_.” She says. “I've never come across a female djinn.”

“Ask it something.” Selina says.

“Like what?” Says the High Priestess, looking at it with curiosity.

“Anything.” Selina says.

The High Priestess bites her lip. “Alexa, I wish to procure some Oxen liver for a stomach-ache poultice.” She says, and Cass nods encouragingly.

A genteel female voice speaks smoothly. “Oxen liver. No results found.”

The High Priestess frowns. “What is the meaning of–”

“Other results. Nutricology Ox bile. 500 milligrams. Available on Amazon for $16.72 plus shipping costs.”

The High Priestess’s eyes widen in excitement. “This is _wonderful_.” She says. “I _knew_ the reason the poultice wasn't working was because the oxen liver was too weak. Perhaps using the bile directly is a better idea.” She turns to Selina. “Your Alexa is the smartest conjured spirit I have ever come across.”

Selina blinks. “Uh, I'm glad you liked it.”

The High Priestess is pacing around the little tourist booth with the Echo now, excitedly asking it questions.

“Alexa, must I journey all the way to the great Amazon to find this ox bile? Perhaps there is another way. Why, just last week I saw an ox pulling a cart on my street. Perhaps I may be able to convince the cart driver to–”

“I'm sorry,” the smooth female voice says, “I didn't understand your question.”

The High Priestess beams at the Echo. “And you're so polite, too.”

Selina looks at Cass, who's giggling quietly by her side. She smiles. It _is_ kind of funny.

She clears her throat. The High Priestess looks up at her, still smiling. “Ask anything you wish for, mortal women, and it is yours. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this thoughtful gift.”

“Maybe you could go back to where you came from?” Selina says. “A lot of people here are really scared, because you've been turning them into sheep or toads or whatever. And the Botanical Gardens crew would probably like to keep doing their jobs.”

The High Priestess nods regally. “Very well.” She says. “I shall return, and show the people of my kingdom this priceless gift that you have bequeathed unto me. Any other wishes?”

Selina grins. “There is one more thing I would like,” she says, looking at the ruby-topped sceptre propped up casually against the door.

 

*

 

Later, after the High Priestess has disappeared into thin air with another murmured incantation and a loud sulphurous pop, Selina and Cass study the scorched circle that she had once occupied.

Selina looks at the sceptre in her hands. The ruby on it is ridiculously huge. “Maybe,” she says, flipping the sceptre around like a Bo staff, “we should have told her that an Amazon Echo requires internet connection. And an app. And an Amazon account. None of which your average Mesopotamian city in 2000 BC would have.”

Cass shrugs. “She'll survive.” She says.

Selina laughs.

 

*

 

She stands outside, on the stoop of the manor door, and rings the doorbell.

Bruce open the door almost immediately, and with such sudden intensity that she's momentarily surprised. Then she recovers, and puts her smirk back on. Holds up two boarding passes.

“I've got two tickets to Ibiza with our names on them. We're flying out in five hours. Pack enough for a week, because I'm not planning on st–”

“There is a _boy_ ,” Bruce says, sounding panicked, “in my living room.”

Selina frowns. “Okay. So?”

“Apparently he's Cass's _boyfriend_ , Selina. He's in a _tuxedo_.” Bruce says, waving his crutches around. He sounds like he's having a stroke.

Realisation slowly dawns upon her. “Oh, right. Ryan. Shit, I forgot that dance was today.”

Bruce's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You _knew_ about this?”

“Yeah, kind of. She mentioned that if she told you, you'd probably overreact.” Selina laughs a little. “She wasn't wrong.”

“She told you, and she didn't tell _me_?” He says, sounding hurt. Than he takes a deep breath. Pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Selina looks at him, amused. “Wow, you're taking this really hard.”

“I can't _believe_ – isn't seventeen too young to date anyway?” He says, looking darkly in the general direction of the living room.

“No it's not, Bruce. Don't be ridiculous.” She says, coming inside. “Where's Cass?”

“Upstairs,” Bruce says, still sounding sullen. “Getting ready.”

“Ah,” she says. She smiles. “Wait till you see her dress. It's Armani.”

“Armani,” Bruce repeats hollowly. Selina smiles again, a little fondly. She almost feels bad for him.

“Your little girl is all grown up,” she says, chuckling, patting his chest. “And you're going to have to get used to it.”

Bruce grunts. “Doesn't mean I have to like it,” he says. They walk through the foyer and into the living room. It takes a while, though, because of Bruce's leg. It's getting better, but it's still in the cast, and Alfred won't let him walk around without the crutches.

A nervous looking teenager springs to his feet. “Oh, hi again Mr. Wayne.” He says, his face pale. He looks at her, “and. . .”

“Selina,” she smiles, shaking his hand. “It's nice to finally meet you, Ryan. I've heard a lot about you.”

Ryan smiles, a little shy. “Only good things, I hope.” He says. The poor kid looks like he's going to sweat through his suit. Bruce constantly glaring at him isn't helping any.

She clears her throat a little. “Bruce, a word?” She says. Bruce looks at her morosely, but follows her out of the room, and into the hallway.

“What is your deal?” She says, laughing a little, despite herself.

Bruce crosses his arms across his chest, putting his crutches away, against the wall. “Cass didn't give me the chance to run any background checks on him and I resent that.”

Selina just laughs harder. “You guys are so fucking weird. This entire family. I don't even know anymore.”

“And _you_.” Bruce says. “You bought that dress for her, didn't you? With your illegal ruby money.”

“Hey! It wasn't _illegal_. I didn't _steal_ anything. She gave us the ruby willingly.”

“You conned her into giving it to you with the help of an eighty dollar _Amazon Echo_ you found on eBay.”

“I did _not_.”

“You've corrupted my daughter.” Bruce says, narrowing his eyes.

“The only thing that seems to be corrupted here is that component in your stupid computer brain that's capable of emotional depth _you absolute_ –”

“Stop.” Cass says, looking at them exasperatedly from the stairwell. Selina can never tell when Cass walks into a room. She could probably sneak up on Bruce too, if she tried.

Cass is wearing makeup. Eyeliner and lipstick. She puts her hands on her hips and does a little twirl. She's wearing the dress, alright.

Selina smiles. “You look amazing.” She says.

Bruce nods. “Beautiful.” He says, a little gruffly. Selina nudges him a little. “If you think you're going to tear up, please let me know. I need to take a video.”

“Shut up,” Bruce growls, but the corners of his mouth twitch up.

They follow Cass back out the the living room, where Ryan, the nervous kid in the tux stands up again and says “Wow,”.

Cass smiles. “Thanks.” She says. She takes hold of his hand. Next to her, Bruce sighs.

Selina looks away. It is very, very hard not to laugh at this.

“Be home by ten thirty.” Bruce says grudgingly. “Pick up your phone if I call you. Have fun.”

Cass rolls her eyes, but goes up to Bruce and kisses him on the cheek, and waves goodbye to Selina.

“Uh, bye Mr. Wayne. And Selina.” The kid says. Selina smiles at him. They leave without much pomp and circumstance.

“See?” Selina says, once they've gone. “Was that so hard?”

Bruce rubs at his temples. “That was one of the hardest things I've done. And I've fought aliens from outer space. If that boy tries anything, I'm going to beat him up with my crutches.”

Selina fights the urge to roll her eyes. What a drama queen. She takes a hold of his hand, much like Cass did with her new boyfriend, and makes him sit down on the sofa next to her. “You're coming to Ibiza with me. I had to give most of the money I made selling that ruby to Micky, so he could rebuild his workshop, and Cass got a cut, so I only had enough to afford a week in a penthouse suite in a cushy hotel near the beach there. We're going. I haven't had a vacation in _years_.”

“I took you to Amsterdam in November.”

“I haven't had a vacation in _months_.” She amends, and Bruce laughs and says okay.

This, she thinks, is why she can't seem to walk away. This is why she keeps coming back. Why _he_ keeps coming back.

This.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I had to look up the price of Ox bile on Amazon and I resent you all for it)


	5. Family Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got very sappy and angsty; I blame Batman Annual.

 

Bruce's bedroom is always beautiful in the mornings. 

The early morning light spills in from the French windows, warm and golden on her bare back. On his. She twists around a little in the sheets, looking at his face in the light.  He looks younger in the mornings, all loose and relaxed, the planes of his face less sharp, somehow. He looks a little blearily at her. “That was good.” He says, his voice sleep-rough.

“I should hope so,” she says, stretching up against him. “Happy birthday.” She says.

Bruce closes his eyes, pulling her closer. “Please don't remind me.” He says.

“What, that it's your birthday?” Selina smirks.

“Yes.” 

“Why? Because you're forty now? And you're so old and–” 

Selina laughs as Bruce shoves a pillow over her face, trying to smother her. She pulls off the pillow and flips them around so she's on top instead. She looks at his face. He's laughing. 

“You're a shithead.” She says, idly tracing the plane of his cheekbone with a finger.

“It's my birthday.” He says. “You can't insult me on my birthday.”

“That's true,” Selina says, dipping her head down to kiss his temple, the corner of his eye. “Happy birthday, shithead.”

“Hm.” He says, but he sounds pleased. There's a hand stroking her back. 

She rolls off of him, giving his brow one last kiss, and gets up and off of the bed to put her clothes back on. He sits up, watching her. 

“The kids doing something for you today?” She asks, pulling on her tank. 

“I think so.” He says, leaning against the headboard, his hands behind his head. What he's doing could almost be called lounging. “It's probably supposed to be a surprise, but I keep walking in on groups of people whispering and then breaking away quickly and trying to look casual.”

“You know,” she says, throwing him his jeans, “for a group of trained detectives and vigilantes, your children are very bad liars.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that.” Bruce says, pulling on his jeans.

“Say what?” She says, in mock confusion, and Bruce smiles.

“Come here,” he says, and Selina does.

“Well _hello_ there,” she says, straddling him. She puts a hand on the back of his neck, tilting his head upward, towards her mouth.

Bruce laughs. “Again? Give me a minute here.”

She sits back on her heels. “You _are_ getting old.” She says, narrowing her eyes.

Bruce tilts his head at her. “It's been barely five minutes.”

“Never stopped you _before_.” 

He just shakes his head. “Selina,” he says, his eyes light as he leans back against the headboard again, “you are something else.”

“I know,” Selina preens, and then Bruce gets that look in his eye again, the one he usually gets after he's finally caught her after hours of chasing her across rooftops, or when he manages to find a particularly strong lead in a case. The look that he gets when he's on the hunt. 

She smiles, slow and catlike. “There he is.” She says. 

  
  


Afterwards, she lies in his arms, looking up at the canopy of his four poster bed. He's playing with her hair– threading it between his fingers, and letting it fall through the gaps. 

“You're right.” He says. “I'm feeling old.”

She turns her head to look at him a little. His eyes are more gray than blue in the soft morning light. There's a warm thing welling up in her chest. In her bones.

“That's not what _I'm_ feeling,” she says, she says, smiling a little. 

“I'm slowing down,” he tells her.

“You're taking your time.” She says. She puts a hand on his chest. “It's fine.”

“I'm feeling my mortality.” He says.

She props herself up on an elbow. “Can I watch?” she smirks.

“Selina. I'm serious.”

She puts her hand on his jaw. “So am I.” she says.

He puts his hand on top of hers. “You want to watch me grow old?” He says, and his voice sounds strangely vulnerable.

She opens her mouth to answer, but then the door suddenly opens and they spring apart like guilty teenagers.

“Oh for god's sake,” Damian says, looking disgusted. “Lock your doors. I am a _child_.”

Beside her, she feels Bruce sigh. A smile tugs on her lips. At least they have most of their clothes on. 

“Good morning, Damian.” Bruce says, sitting up a little. “Have you come to wish me?”

“I had, initially,” Damian says, that same look of distaste on his face, “but now I'm seriously reconsidering it.”

Selina just laughs. She sits up too, and a little away from Bruce. “Hi, kid.” She says.

“I am not a _kid_ , Kyle.” Damian informs her. “I am a fully grown adult, stuck in the body of a child.”

“Every new kid you get home is weirder than the last one,” Selina says to Bruce, under her breath. Bruce gives her a look. Selina shrugs.

“Happy Birthday, Father.” Damian says finally. He holds up a piece of paper. “I have made a sketch of you as a present.”

Bruce leans over to take it from him, and holds it up so Selina can see. It's a profile sketch of Bruce. The lines of the drawing are carefully made, neat and professional looking. 

“It's beautiful, Damian.” Bruce says. “Thank you.”

Damian nods, looking pleased. “Grayson said you might appreciate it.”

“He was right.” Bruce says, looking at Damian, his eyes soft.

“Anyway,” Damian says, clearing his throat in a business-like manner. “Pennyworth says to come down for breakfast. Everyone is downstairs, waiting to see you. Even fatgirl came.”

“Don't call her that,” Bruce says, getting up and putting on his t-shirt. 

“Call her what? Fatgirl?” Damian says, looking around the room in curiousity. He stares at Selina with a renewed suspicion. 

“Is it true that you have six cats?” He says, abruptly. “I quite like cats. I have one. And a dog. And two goldfish, although I have a feeling they're being replaced by Pennyworth every time they die because they have been alive for a ridiculously long time now. But I want another cat. Father said I couldn't get anymore because I have batcow to take care of, now.”

Selina gives Bruce a questioning look. Bruce shrugs. “He likes animals.” He says, and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. That leaves her alone with Damian.

“I have one cat, technically. She's old now. But a lot of strays come and go from my apartment.” She says.

Damian is a small kid. Tall for his age, maybe, but still on the scrawnier side. Although she can see that he's going to grow into his lanky frame in a few years. He sits on Bruce's wingback chair, near his desk, and for a second, Selina has the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Then she realises that he sits exactly like Bruce does, elbows on the chair’s arms, his fingers steepled together meditatively. 

“I want another cat.” Damian says. “I want you to convince Father to get me one.”

Selina raises an eyebrow. “What's in it for me?” She says.

“My approval.” Damian says, and Selina laughs. 

“Kid, I don't need your approval.” She says, leaning back. “I've already got Alfred's, and that's the one that really counts.” 

Damian narrows his eyes. “You need me in your corner, Kyle.”

She just laughs some more. “Really? And why is that?”

“I am the blood son,” Damian sniffs. “And also, Grayson likes me. And everyone likes Grayson. Which means you need me.”

“Dick also likes me,” Selina points out. “I knew him back when he was running around in a green speedo and pixie boots. Besides, I don't need allies. It's not like I'm campaigning for city council, or anything.”

“Tt.” Damian says. “I mean for when you get integrated into this family, Kyle.” He's looking at her like she's a complete idiot.

Selina raises both eyebrows now. “Integrated into this family?” She says. 

Damian rolls his eyes. “Yes. Don't you see? Father will eventually reach a certain point in his life, upon which he will give up on his lone wolf mentality and decide that he needs someone to make his sandwiches and rub his feet. And he's getting older, now. So it's only a matter of time.”

“What? That's not– I'm not making him any sandwiches!” She splutters.

Damian just looks bored. “Have it your way, Kyle. But I'm getting another cat, one way or the other.” He says, standing back up and walking towards the door. 

Bruce comes out of the bathroom wiping at his face with a hand towel; he's shaved. “What's going on?” He asks.

She looks at him, feeling mildly panicked.“Do you want me to rub your feet and make you sandwiches?” 

Bruce blinks. “I wouldn't mind,” he says. When he sees Selina glare at him, he quickly adds, “only if you want to, that is.”

“Well I don't. Want to.” she says.

Bruce blinks again. “Okay.” He says. He sounds very confused.

Damian just snickers, leaving the room, yelling, “consider my proposal!” 

Selina sighs, lying back in bed.

Bruce looks at her. “Do I even want to know?” He says.

  
  


*

 

She sees Damian again two weeks later, sitting on the parapet of a building near the East End. She was supposed to meet Bruce earlier tonight, but Holly's been acting weird recently, and so she stayed home, worrying about her instead. Which was stupid of her to do, because Holly had said nothing was wrong. And Selina trusted her.

For the most part.

There's strong winds tonight, and Damian's walking dangerously close to the edge.

“Be careful,” she says, landing neatly next to him, and pulling off her goggles. “Wouldn’t want you to fall from here. It's quite a height.”

Damian is quiet for the longest time. When he finally speaks, it's like he's emerged out of a trance. He sounds like he's in a dream. “I never fall.” He says.

Selina tilts her head. “Okay,” she says, finally. “I'll just sit next to you then.” She sits down.

Damian doesn't even look particularly annoyed at this. Now she's worried.

“Where's your dad?” She asks.

Damian’s shoulders are a stiff line. “At home.” He says.

Silence, for a moment, except for the sound of Damian’s cape whipping in the wind. 

“Did you manage to get that cat you wanted?” Selina says, trying to get a read on him.

The stiff line of those shoulders becomes stiffer still, and his fists clench into knots. That was the wrong thing to say, then.

“I don't think I will, now.” Damian says. His voice is calm, despite the way his body betrays him.

Selina crosses her legs. They both look down from the thin ledge they're sitting on, suspended over hundreds of feet of empty air. Selina can see cars and people. They all look like little insects crawling hurriedly to wherever they need to be next. It feels like she's surveying them, their lives. Like she is the one in control.

She can see why Damian has come here.

“You've had a fight with Bruce.” She says.

Damian is quiet. He's so small, she thinks. Just a little boy.

She looks back out to the sky. 

“Come on,” she says. “Let's go somewhere else. One of us is going to fall and break our necks.”

  
  


*

 

The east Gotham Seawall stretches out for almost a mile along the choppy ocean, gray and sordid and ancient. It always looks like some kind of age-old ruin in the moonlight.

They sit on it, watching as the waves crash into the wall over and over again. Some of the spray gets on them. There's a thin mist of it in the air. She can smell it. Salt and sea and damp.

Damian looks around. “My grandfather built this.” He says. “Not Ra's. My other grandfather. Father's father.”

“I know.”

“He did quite a good job, didn't he?” 

Selina smiles. “He didn't build it _himself_ ,” she says.

Damian looks irritated. “I _know_ , Kyle.”

They watch the ocean for some time longer.

“I have a fight with Bruce every second day, almost.” She says. 

“Not like this,” Damian says. He dangles his legs over the wall, holding up a hand against the spray. 

He seems to like it here.

“Father hates me.” He says, casually.

Or maybe not.

Selina looks at him. “What makes you think that?” 

“I'm a bad person.” Damian says, his tone still matter-of-fact.

Selina frowns. “He said that to you?”

Damian looks at her for the first time. “No,” he says, “of course not.”

“Well, then.” Selina says. “What makes you think you are?”

Damian looks out to the ocean. It looks inky black, in the dark. Silver in some places, because of the moonlight. There's a few ships out to sea; they look like nothing more than distant specks of light in a pool of pitch.

“I've killed people,” Damian says, “and felt nothing. I don't do it anymore, because Father doesn't like it, and also because – because I want to believe in his system, the way that he does. With that much faith.” He sounds very small and very quiet. Not like his usual blunt and flippant candor at all. 

“That doesn't sound like something a bad person would say,” she says.

“But I don't,” Damian says, looking at her. His eyes are clear and sharp. “I don't believe in the system. I know I should, I know it's right, but I can't –” he stops. “I don't like hurting people. I don't like the way it makes me feel. Numb and– and cruel.” He says, finally. “But sometimes I believe it is necessary.”

Selina looks at him. He's fidgeting a little, with the corner of his cape. “Is this what you fought about?” She says, softly.

Damian swallows. “It was one of our first ever fights. And we still haven't stopped fighting about it. We just forget we do, for a little while.”

He's still fidgeting, his hands bunched around an edge of the cape. The soft glow of the moonlight on his knuckles. “Tonight, there was a man,” he says. “We didn't see him, at first. There was a burglary in an antiquities shop. Father and I, we took down four men. We didn't see him, the fifth man. He was in the back of the shop, emptying out the cash register when it happened. He– he shot father.” Damian’s voice trembles.

A cold streak of fear runs down her spine. “Is he alright?”

“Flesh wound.” Damian’s voice is small.

Selina looks out at the ocean and blinks a few times. Her hands are clutching tight at the cement wall, she realises. She lets go. 

“And then what?”

“And then I chased him down.” Damian says. “And I broke his arm. And I didn't feel bad about it.”

“Oh,” Selina says. 

Damian’s frame curls in on itself. “And Father hates me.” he picks up a piece of loose gravel and throws it out into the ocean. 

They don't see where it falls. It's too dark.

“I think I would've done it too.” Selina says, after a bit.

“What?”

“If someone hurt Bruce, I would want to hurt them too.” She says.

Damian stares at her for a while. Then he shakes his head. “That makes two of us then. Bad people, I mean.”

Selina frowns. “I don't know.” She says. “I don't think so.” She knows she isn't a particularly good person. She steals things from people, and sometimes she beats up criminals. She helps out Harley and Pam just because they're her friends. She doesn't always return library books.

Damian just sighs. “Father is right. I should try harder. I just– I never– my mother, she was never this complicated. She wanted one thing. For me to be the best. And so I became the best. And Father, he wants– he wants for me to be the best, but also forgiving. He wants for me to be good, but also strong.” Damian frowns at the waves. “I don't know what to give him.”

“You don't owe him anything.” Selina says.

“But I do.” Damian says helplessly. “He's my _father_.”

Selina thinks for a moment. “Maybe you owe it to him to do what  _ you _ want to do.” 

Damian looks confused.

“Look,” Selina says. “Maybe you don't have to be bad, or good. Or the best, like your mother wanted. Or strong, or particularly forgiving. Maybe you just have to be Damian Wayne.”

Damian bites his lip. “Father said something like that, once.” 

The waves crash against the wall again, particularly high this time. The water almost reaches her feet. The high tide must be rolling in. 

Selina smiles. “See? Sometimes I get it right.” She says.

Damian still looks uncertain. 

“Your father does not hate you.” Selina says. “Quite the opposite, I think. I think he loves you enough that he's scared that you're going to do something you regret.”

“I don't regret hurting that man.” Damian says fiercely. “He had it coming.”

“Maybe.” Selina says. “But maybe next time you should let the person who's been hurt decide.”

“Father would never do it.” Damian says, looking hunched and miserable. “Father is a good person.”

Selina sighs, exasperated. “There you go with all that good person talk, again. You want to know something? Bruce told me a long time back, back when Jason was still dead, that he imagined killing the Joker everyday.”

Damian looks at her. “No.” He says.

“Yes. He doesn't kill people because he's not a killer, Damian. He doesn't kill people because he is.”

“That makes no sense.” Damian says. He bites his lip again.

“Yes it does.” Selina says. “I want you to think about it. Not all of us are born good, like Dick, or Diana Prince, or Clark Kent. Some of us have to try to learn how to be good. And your father has been trying the hardest and longest.”

Damian doesn't say anything.

“And I could argue that that makes him a better person than most,” Selina says, softly. “But you don't think that sometimes he just wants to slit open the Riddler's throat, or beat up the Joker until he can't walk?”

Damian looks at her then, his eyes large and sharp in the light of the moon. 

Selina inclines her head. “I'm saying it doesn't matter if he does, Robin. It matters that he chooses not to.”

The next wave that crashes into the wall splashes against her boots. 

“High tide.” Damian says.

“Yes.” Selina looks at Damian. “Let's get you back home.”

  
  


*

 

They let themselves into the manor through the batcave, going up the metal mesh stairs, and through the old grandfather clock quietly. The manor is dark, and quiet. Long shadows drape the large rooms. It feels almost serene.

They walk by the main hall, where Bruce had his birthday party a two weeks back. Some of the streamers that the kids had put up are hung on the wall. There had been chocolate cake, she remembers.

Selina pulls off her mask, running a hand through her hair. Damian stops, next to her. “I'm going to go talk to Father,” he says, sounding very serious and brave.

Selina nods. “Good.” She says. She gestures to the hall and its offshooting corridors. “I'll stick around here until you're done, okay?”

Damian says okay, and goes upstairs.

Selina wanders around the house, in the quiet and dark. She walks by that Ming dynasty vase that she'd planned on stealing the first time she'd come here. The impressionist paintings that Bruce's great grandmother used to collect. The little marble sculpture of a boy that Bruce's grandfather imported from Florence. The tea set in the cabinet that Bruce's mother was so fond of. Priceless treasures, all of them. And yet when she looks at them, she doesn't see the money anymore. She sees family. Bruce's parents, his grandparents, his great grandparents, and so on and so forth, all under one roof. The sum of their lives in this manor, and all that's left behind are some of their expensive trinkets.

She swallows. She's never particularly wanted a family before. 

When she walks into the living room, a cat stares at her with translucent green eyes, glowing in the night. She bends down on one knee. “Hello,” she whispers.

The cat meows, slinking away from the dark corner, to curl around her leg while she scratches behind its ears. Must be Damian's cat. She checks its collar, and then laughs.

“Alfred,” she says. “It's nice to meet you.”

Alfred purrs obligingly. She picks up the cat gently, and walks over to the portrait that hangs in the middle of one of the walls of the room. Well. Two portraits now. There used to only be one, when she first came here.

The first one is of Bruce's parents. They're both young in it. Younger than Bruce is now, even. His mother is laughing, and there's something in the lines of her mouth, of her chin, that Damian seems to have inherited. Bruce's father is slightly more reserved, but he's still smiling. He's looking at his wife. 

She thinks of the portrait of the Waynes in the orphanage she lived in; she pictures it smouldering and burning and crackling in the fire of the explosion. She has to close her eyes for a second, get her breath back.She opens her eyes again. Holly always tells her not to think about it, but sometimes she can't help it. 

The cat purrs again. She moves on.

The second one is of Bruce and his kids. He's sitting in that wingback chair from his bedroom, and his sons are all standing. Cass is sitting, leaning against the leg of the chair. It's a formal portrait, except they're all smiling. Damian looks a little impatient, his smile slightly forced. But his hand in clutched tight around Bruce's chair.

Selina looks down at the little cat in her lap. There is a strange writhing longing in her chest. There are no portraits in her house. There's an old photo she keeps, folded up in her closet of Bruce and her in a beach in Australia, on one of those trips that they would take when it was agreed that either one or both of them needed a break from Gotham. He's in swimming trunks and sunglasses, and she's in a sundress and a floppy hat. They're both laughing at something she can no longer remember. It's almost a twelve years old photograph.

That is the family portrait she has.

She makes up her mind. She walks through the large rooms and hallways, and upstairs, towards Bruce's rooms.

She stops near the study, where she can hear muffled voices through the door. She waits outside for a second. Neither of the voices sound angry. No one is yelling. 

She waits there until the voices stop all together. She slowly opens the door. 

Brice is sitting in the armchair next to the window. Damian is curled up in Bruce's lap, his too long legs folded under him, Bruce's arms around him. He's not asleep, but he's getting there. His eyes are half closed. Bruce is stroking his hair.

Bruce looks up when Selina enters. Holds up a finger to his mouth. Selina nods. Bruce keeps stroking at his hair, until Damian's eyes slide all the way closed and his breaths get deeper and longer. One of his arms flop down across the armchair. 

Bruce gets up, gently extricating himself from under Damian, and setting him down more or less diagonally across the armchair. She can see the impression of a bandage under his t-shirt, on his shoulder. Must've been where he got shot. He inclines his head towards the door, gesturing for Selina to go outside with him.

Outside the study, after Bruce has closed the door shut with a quiet click, he looks at her. 

“I have something I want to say.” She says. She pauses, and then she thinks once more of that folded up photograph in her closet. She decides to go on. “I was thinking, I– I'd like to watch you grow old, and your kids grow into adults.” she smiles. “I've already seen Dick and Jason do it. And I don't mind making you a sandwich once in awhile, as long as you reciprocate, but I draw the line at rubbing your feet.”

Something flickers in Bruce's eyes, and then he smiles. “Oh no,” he says, and she realises that they're both whispering. “No foot massages, how will I ever survive?” 

Selina laughs, a sort of choked sound. “Shut up,” she says, and Bruce does, because he's kissing her. He kisses her long and slow, and by the end of it Selina thinks she might need to sit down. 

“You taste like salt.” He murmurs.

“I was at the seawall.” She has her hands on his shoulders, and she accidentally touches the wrong spot, and Bruce grunts in pain. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, taking her hand off the bandage. “You should be resting.” 

Bruce shakes his head. “There will be time for that later,” he says, holding her. 

The door to the study opens silently, and Damian squints sleepily at them.

“Father,” he says. “You left.”

Bruce looks at Damian. “Yes. I'm sorry. You want to go to bed?” 

Damian nods.

Bruce scoops him up, and Damian puts his head on the uninjured shoulder. “Father?”

“Hm.”

“Can I get a cat, please?”

Bruce sighs. “This again?”

“Please,”

“Bruce,” Selina says. “Get him the damn cat.”

Bruce sighs again, and Damian nods sleepily and promptly falls back asleep. 

Together, they both walk down the hall to Damian's bedroom.  

“I’m tired now. Older. Sometimes,” Bruce tells her, “I just want to be happy.”

Selina doesn't think she understands at first— isn't he already happy?—, but then maybe she does, a little. Sometimes, she just wants to be happy too. She tells him that, and Bruce looks at her that way again. Warm and sharp and clear. Just like his son.

They walk down to the fourth room on the right, and Bruce opens the door. 

The cat she'd seen earlier– Alfred, slinks up around Bruce's legs, stretching against him. Bruce steps carefully over him, and puts Damian down on his bed.

Damian blinks open his eyes. “My cat. I'm going to name him Phoebus. Like the sun.”

“Okay, Damian.” Bruce says, pulling his covers up around him.

“Or Penthesilea. If it's a girl. We can call her Penny, for short. That's Wonder Woman's aunt’s name.”

“You can't name a cat Penthesilea, Damian.”

“Yes I can,” Damian says, sleepily. “Watch me.”

And then he falls asleep again.

Selina laughs.

Bruce gives her a look. “Stop laughing at my son,” he says, and Selina laughs some more.

“Tomorrow,” Bruce says. He looks a little shy. “I'll ask you tomorrow.”

Selina feels that warm thing again, in her chest. In her fingertips. All the way down to her toes. “Okay, Bat.”

“And you'll say yes.” Bruce says, sounding more uncertain than not.

She smiles, slow and wide. “Yes, Bat.”

They sit there for some time, on the edge of Damian's bed, watching him sleep. The cat jumps up onto the bed, and with a lazy flick of its tail, curls up and settles down next to Damian's chest. 

“Penthesilea,” Bruce says, and they both start to laugh. 

 

*

 

Except tomorrow never comes. Holly calls her up in the middle of the night, crying. She speaks over the phone for hours. Hours and hours. After she hangs up, Selina stares at Bruce sleeping. She touches his face. The line of his jaw. 

She puts her head in her hands.

The next day, she turns herself in for killing 237 terrorist soldiers. She pleads guilty in court. They put her on death row. Lethal injection.

Bruce never visits. Not once. She sits in her cell and thinks of _tomorrow_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I unashamedly stole some of the dialogue in the earlier part of the chapter from[ this](https://goo.gl/images/jWfPDu) panel.


	6. Selina and Bruce

He writes her letters after she gets transferred to Arkham from Blackgate.

He talks about his childhood. About his parents, and the parties they would throw. How the manor used to look when he was still a child. When all the wings were open and they had a whole crew of servants. Maids and gardeners and cooks and a chauffeur.

He talks about his own children. Tim turns seventeen, and she gets a photo of the birthday cake. He writes about how Jason bought a new motorcycle. Dick's promotion in Bludhaven. Another photo, this one of Cass during her ballet performance.  Damian gets that cat, after all.

He writes about the new painting that he bought from that gallery uptown that she likes, and how she might appreciate it when she comes back home. To the manor. Christmas comes and goes, and he encloses, in a letter, a photo of Alfred's Christmas pudding. 

_ Merry Christmas, Cat, _ the letter says.

She reads all the letters over and over again. She's often in solitary confinement, and she thinks about them when she stares at the blank walls. 

He never writes about her situation. About the fact that six months from now, she's going to be strapped down to a stretcher and some faceless guard will inject her with a syringe full of drugs, and then there will be nothing more.

He seems to be in denial, she thinks. He seems to believe he can fix this. That he can fix everything.

He keeps sending her letters about his childhood haunts and his children's birthdays and Alfred's holiday meals. 

She doesn't write back.

Well. She does, once. She has a moment of weakness, after a particularly gruelling week in Solitary, and she tells him the story. The story about the orphanage, and that portrait of the Waynes on the wall. How she would spend hours as a child sitting in the main hall, looking at it and tracing shapes into the walls and imagining she was there, with them. With those fancy people in their fancy rich house, with their fancy butler. How she and her best friend, Holly, would giggle and laugh and dream about the Waynes coming to the orphanage one day, and taking them away. 

Not that she didn't like the orphanage. She loved it. She loved the teachers who always smiled kindly, and the janitor D.T., who always gave her a thumbs-up when he saw her. Her friends there, and all the smaller children there who could barely speak, but still smiled wide when they saw her.

_ They killed them all, Bat, _ she writes, sitting in her cell, her eyes feeling hot and wet.  _ They killed 163 children, and 7 teachers. And they killed D.T.  _

She remembers standing there, at the site of what used to be the orphanage with Holly, trying to look past all the police cars and ambulances and firetrucks, at the pile of ash and rubble that used to be her home. Somewhere there, underneath all that wreckage, was a portrait of the Waynes. Burned to a crisp. Devoured by the flames along with all those little orphans, until there was nothing left.

_ So,  _ she writes,  _ I killed them all. The entire terrorist organisation behind the bombing. All 237 of them. Most of them, I slit their throats. Some of them, I shot. They had it coming. _

_ Merry Christmas, Bat. _

It's not a moment of weakness, she realises. It's a carefully constructed lie. 

He doesn't write to her for a long time after that. Almost a month. In the meantime, she sits in her cell, doing not much of anything. For the most part, the prison ward she's in is quiet. Just bad people waiting to die. Every once in awhile a fight erupts, but no one can give her much of a hard time and get away with it, so she doesn't worry. 

Sometimes gets snippets of news of the outside world from her cellmate, or whispers she hears at the prison cafeteria, when she's eating her cornflakes. There's two new superheroes in the city. They call themselves Gotham and Gotham girl. Blue capes and blonde hair and the whole nine yards. They seem to be doing a whole lot of saving kittens from trees and pulling people out of burning buildings and all that. Good for them, she thinks. 

Except they're dead by next Friday. Selina just eats more cornflakes. It's no surprise that Gotham has never treated its heroes well. She's reminded of Jason, briefly.

Weeks go by. She eats cornflakes and stares at walls and and occasionally gets into fights with other prisoners. It's an okay way to spend the last few months of her life, honestly. She doesn't have too many complaints. Maybe if they allowed her a phone call once in a while.

Bruce does write back though, eventually. When he does, his reply is short and succinct.

_ I think you're a liar and a fraud. I don't think you killed those people. I'm going to find out the truth, because that's what I do. And then I'm going to get you out. _

_ Happy new year, Cat. _

“It's almost February, jackass,” she says aloud, wiping at her eyes. Her cellmate gives her a dirty look. She smiles.

  
  


*

 

Three months later, he visits for the first time. She's been acting out again, so they've put her in solitary. Again. 

She looks up as she hears the guard approach, and frowns when she hears the jangle of keys, and then the lock turning.

“What happened?” She says.

The guard looks at her. He's young, and she can tell that he's nervous. He's avoiding her eyes. Probably thinks being a mass-murderer is contagious.

“You've got a visitor.” He says, looking at a patch of wall next to her head.

Selina stares. “Who?”

 

They put her in a straitjacket and lead her to a private visiting room. She sits, and waits. Minutes pass. Then the steel handle of the door turns again. She looks up.

Bruce opens the door, and he just stands there, looking at her. He's in his suit. She can't read anything on his face beyond the blank white stare of the cowl. She thinks of all the letters and all the times she's missed him so desperately, missed that look he gets in his eyes sometimes, and that wry twitch of his mouth when he smiles, and the way he furrows his brow when he's concentrating. She's even missed his _kids_ , for god's sake. 

She just stares at him from across the room. Bruce is standing very still. His fist clenches and unclenches briefly.

“Selina Kyle,” he says finally. He inclines his head slightly, towards the camera attached to one corner of the wall. They're watching. 

So Selina smiles, slow and sultry. “Hello, Batman.” she says. She sounds ridiculous, calling him that. But she says it anyway, for the cameras. “How can I help you?”

He comes a little closer, dragging out the chair across the table from her. He sits down on it. “I need you to come on a mission with me and some other. . . select individuals.”

She tilts her head. Her _help_. She leans forward, toward him. “I'm on death row. I'm in solitary confinement most of the time. And they're going to let me out just because the big bad Bat said so?”

The side of his mouth curls up a little. “I filled up their entire asylum. They owe me.”

“I see,” she says, leaning back again in her chair again. “And what about all those people I killed? Is that forgiven?”

His mouth goes hard again. “No.” He says. “If you help. . . satisfactorily, they'll take you off death row. You'll be served life without parole instead.”

Selina moves a little, against the tight fit of her straitjacket. She sees his eyes flick down to it, and go hard again. Good. He's angry. 

“They shouldn't be keeping you like this,” he says, and his voice sounds like steel.

She smiles a little. “Like what, Bat?”

He waves a hand at the dingy, windowless visitor room. At the straitjacket she's in. “Like this.”

“Well,” she says, her voice cool. “I did kill 237 people, Bat. Consequences, and all that.”

“You didn't–” he stops when she looks at the camera again.

A pause. He's waiting, she realises. For her reply.

“So,” she says, “life without parole.” 

“Yes.” Batman says. 

Selina looks at him. “You sound disappointed,” she says, lightly. She thinks of that painting he bought for her to see when she got back home. He'll just have to send a photo of it now, like everything else. 

He looks away.

“Bat,” she says, “I'll do it. I'll help.”

He looks back at her again. “Good,” he says. “That's good.”

“I can be good.” She says, very low.

He just smiles, although it looks a little sad. More than anything she wants to go round the table and pull him into her arms. Just _touch_ him.

“Where to?” She says instead. “Russia? Dubai? Thailand? I've always wanted to go to Thailand, you know.”

“Santa Prisca.” He says.

Selina’s smile flickers a little. “But that's where–”

“Bane lives. Yes.”

She leans forward again, almost halfway across the table, and speaks in an urgent whisper, low enough that hopefully the cameras can't hear. “But he broke your back.”

“I know, Cat.”

“And you're going _back_ there? You know–”

“He doesn't have the venom anymore, I can–”

“You're crazy. This is _suicide_. You can't–”

“Cat,” Bruce says forcefully, and Selina falls silent. 

“I'm going. No matter what you say.” he says. “And it's up to you whether you want to come or not.”

Selina shakes her head. "An _insect_ would have a stronger sense of self-preservation than you."

" _Cat_."

She sighs, looking at him. “Of course I'm coming. Who else could take care of your suicidal ass?”

He smiles thinly. “Good. We leave now.” he gets up, and goes around the table, over to her. Starts to take off her straitjacket.

Selina flutters her eyelashes. “Already, Batman? You could at least take me out for dinner and a movie, first.”

Batman just snorts, undoing the clasps on her back. His hands are trembling, just a little. She closes her eyes.

“I've missed you too, you know.” She whispers. 

A silence. And then, quietly, Bruce says, “I'm going to get you out of this.”

“The straitjacket?” Selina says.

“You know what I'm talking about.” Bruce says. He undoes the last clasp, and she pulls her arms out of it. For a moment, under the table, their hands graze. He grips onto hers tightly. He's just looking at her. She wishes she could see under the flat white lenses of the cowl. She wishes she could be far away from this tiny room and this bad place and somewhere warm and quiet. She wishes she could go see that painting at the manor, and Damian's cat, and Jason's motorcycle, and Cass’s dance recitals. She wishes she could lie in bed next to Bruce in the mornings, and joke about stupid things again. She wishes. 

She grips his hand back tight.

“Yes,” she says. “I do.”

 

*

 

A month later, five people wait outside Bruce's study, in the hall. Well. The five of them and a cat.

“I can't believe you got another one,” Jason says, shaking his head as Penthesilea curls around his legs, meowing appreciatively. “Bruce never spoiled _us_ like this.” He says, and Tim nods.

“What kind of a name for a cat is Penthesilea, anyway?” He says.

Damian scowls, leaning down to pet her. “It's a perfectly good name. Here, Penny.”

Penny ignores him, choosing to slink up to Cass instead. Cass picks her up, scratching under her chin. 

“Bruce called. Why?” She says. “I was in Hong Kong.”

“He does this all the time.” Tim is saying, “He calls us to his study, and then he makes us wait for like, half an hour.”

“Grayson, can you hear anything in there?” Damian says to Dick, who's closest to the study door. 

Dick presses his ear against the door. “I don't hear anything,” he says, wrinkling his brow.  

“Maybe they're having sex. Wild monkey sex.” Jason suggests, and Dick gasps, horrified, covering Damian's ears. 

“There are _children_ here!” He says.

Damian wriggles out of Dick's grip, irritated. “I _know_ what intercourse is, Grayson. Stop it.”

“That's disgusting,” Tim says, and Cass nods. She looks very confused, though. 

“Monkey. . . sex?” She says.

“Oh,” Jason says. “so basically it implies that the whole act is kind of wild and crazy, cause you know, monkeys are–” 

“Jason, the _children_!” Dick says again, pointing wildly to Damian, who just looks bored.

“I don't see why Father had to call us all about this.” He says. “We all _know_ about his dumb engagement anyway. Alfred already told us. He seems to have forgotten.” Damian pauses, looking thoughtful. “Maybe the Kyle woman is slipping ketamine into his coffee. I have heard that it causes short-term memory loss.”

“Nah, Selina's cool. She's not slipping anything into his drinks.” Dick says. He looks slightly dreamy. “I actually think it's sweet.”

Tim rolls his eyes. Jason snickers.

“What?” Dick says indignantly. “They've been together forever, and I'm glad it finally happened.”

“She's okay.” Jason says. “She made me read _Dune_ when I was a kid.” He smiles a little. “And I think we talked about. . . what was it, _Ender's Game_? Yeah, _Ender's Game_ , at about two in the morning, when I was like thirteen.”

“Really?” Tim says, but Dick holds up a finger to shush them; the side of his head is still pressed flat against the wall. 

“I think I can hear something.” He says. Beside him, Cass leans forward too, Penny still in her lap.

“What's going on?” Damian whispers, failing to look bored any longer.

“Uhh, I can hear her talking. They're being really quiet though.” Dick says, frowning as he concentrates.

“You do realise that we're eavesdropping, right?” Tim says.

“Yeah yeah, it's Bruce. I'm sure he bugs our phones and eavesdrops on us all the time. We're just returning the favour.” Jason says.

“Okay, hang on, I can hear what they're saying.” Dick says, and everyone falls silent.

“Selina’s talking about– having someone in her corner? They're laughing. I don't know what that means.” Dick says.

“They're talking about me.” Damian says quietly. 

Four people (and a cat) turn to him. 

Damian shrugs jerkily. “She made Father get me the cat.” He says.

“Figures.” Tim says. “ _Cat_ woman, and all that.”

Damian looks to a side. “And– and she told me I was a good person. Because I was trying really hard.”

“Oh,” Tim says.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian says, blushing.

“I just said _Oh_!” 

“Wait,” Dick says, looking at Damian. “When did this happen?”

Damian shrugs again. “A few months ago. Before Kyle went to prison.” He frowns. “Actually, it was exactly the day before she turned herself in.”

“Huh.” Tim says.

Jason frowns. “Yeah. What's the deal with that anyway? She didn't kill all those people, did she?”

Dick shakes his head, looking at the door again. “No. Damian and I went to Kahndaq, remember? Looking for Bruce and Selina. Guess who they were looking for.”

“Holly Robinson. Kyle's friend.” Damian says.

“What did she do?” Tim asks.

Dick looks grave. “Killed 237 people.”

“Oh,” Tim says again.

“Yeah.”

There's a short silence. Dick puts his ear against the door again.

Cass strokes the little kitten in her lap. “Why did he call?” She asks again.

“Probably to tell us about the engagement and the wedding.” Dick says, sounding dreamy again. “Do you think they'll have a honeymoon?”

“A _Honeymoon_.” Damian says, looking disgusted. “Father, and _Honeymoons_.” 

“It _does_ seem like something that normal people would do. Which isn't very Bruce-like.” Tim says. And then he frowns. “Something's wrong. I just agreed with Damian.”

Jason snorts. “It happens to the best of us, every once in awhile.”

“Shut _up_ , Todd.” 

“Look, I'm glad that Bruce is settling down. Yeah, it's a little weird, but Selina is pretty cool. She made me potato soup, once. And I think she got Steph out of a parking ticket last summer.”

“ _How_?” Jason says.

“She seduced the officer. When that didn't work, she tasered him.”

“Wow.” Jason says, sounding impressed.

“Wait a sec, go back to the potato soup thing?” Dick says.

Tim looks sheepish. “Oh, yeah. So when I was thirteen I got in a fight–”

“ _You_?” Damian says, looking at him dubiously.

“Shut up. I got into a fight and my nose started to bleed, and I got called into the principal's office, so–”

“ _You_ got called into the principal's office?” Dick says. 

Tim looks offended. “Is it _that_ hard to believe that sometimes I get into trouble?”

“Um, Yes?” Dick says. “You're like, Bruce's favourite.”

Tim huffs, looking darkly at Cass. “Sure.” 

Cass just smiles sweetly back.

“Anyway,” Tim continues, “so I booked it, and Selina let me stay in her apartment for a couple of hours. She made me dinner. This was when they were broken up.” Tim preens a little. “I'm pretty sure I got them back together. Thank god for Krewski being an asshole, I guess.”

Hold on. I have zero memory of them ever being broken up.” Jason frowns.

“You were dead.” Tim.

“Ah,” Jason says.

Dick looks thoughtful. “Hey, I _do_ remember that,” he says. “Them not being together. This was right after Jay died. Bruce used to mope around the house a lot.”

“There were also lots of supermodels,” Tim says, looking amused. “He was trying to get over both of you, I think.” he says to Jason.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Maybe he can give me some of the supermodels’ numbers.”

Penny jumps out of Cass’s lap, and onto the floor. She stretches, her tail curling, and then pads over to the door, scratching it with her claws. When the door stays steadfastly shut, she yowls.

“You and me both, Pen. You and me both.” Dick says, sadly.

“What are they  _ doing _ in there?” Tim says, for the hundredth time.

“I think they're coming up with strategies to break it to us that Selina's moving in.” Dick says.

Damian makes a noise in disgust.

“Hey, Damian,” Tim says, looking concerningly gleeful. “She's going to be your _step-mother_.” 

Damian looks horrified. “I already _have_ a mother!” He yells.

“That one is bad enough anyway,” Jason says under his breath, and Damian attempts to punch him. Jason ducks, laughing. Damian attempts to lunge at him again, but Cass pulls him back swiftly, by the back of his t-shirt.

“I hate all of you,” Damian seethes. 

“Calm down, Dami,” Dick says, looking more cheery than he should be. “I'm sure she won't be your step-mother or anything. She'll just be your dad's wife.”

“That's the same thing!” Damian cries out. He rubs at his temples. A surprisingly Bruce-like thing to do. “I can't believe the cat burglar woman is going to mother me.”

“She isn't going to try to sit down with you and talk about feelings, you know.” Dick says. “She's probably just gonna take you out for an ice cream every once in awhile.” 

“Oh,” Damian says, looking slightly mollified. “I suppose that is not so bad.”

“Yep. You know Dami, when I was like nine or ten, she would buy me sodas from this 24 hour diner place, after Bruce and I finished patrol. She used to call me a Brave Little Hero.” He says, smiling cheesily at the memory.

“Gross,” Tim says.

“I can't imagine what an annoying shit you must've been when you were nine.” Jason says, laughing.

“I was _adorable_. Everyone loved me, by the way.” Dick says. “Back when we first met, Selina and I, she didn't even know who Batman _was_.” 

Cass raises her eyebrows.

“Yep.” Dick grins. “This was like, fifteen years ago? It was really funny to watch them date in real life and then flirt with each other on Patrol, not knowing each other's identities. Although Bruce found out eventually, I guess.”

“And then?” Tim says.

“And then there was that whole Ivy thing, and Selina got hurt real bad, so Bruce took her back to the cave for emergency surgery, and she found out who he was.”

“Wow. She must've been really mad.” Tim says.

Dick frowns. “Actually, I don't remember her being angry at all. I do remember showing her my gymnastics routine later that day, and her clapping while she was still wearing a hospital gown. Alfred made us sandwiches for dinner.”

“Where was Father?” Damian asks.

Dick snorts. “Sleeping. This was back before he became dead inside, and needed at least four hours of sleep to function, like the rest of us.”

“Hey. Don't make death jokes. Only I can make death jokes.” Jason says, scratching the back of Penny's ears.

Dick rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Littlewing.”

“And stop calling me that,” Jason says, his cheeks colouring.

“Calling you what, Littlewing?”

“I'm not little. I'm bigger than you!”

“Physically, perhaps. But mentally? I don't think so, Littlewing.” 

Jason scrubs at his face. “I'm with Damian on this one. I hate all of you too.”

“Yeah, well–”

“I also have a story.” Cass says. She smiles. “About Catwoman.”

Tim grins too. “The whole High Priestess thing? Oh my god, they don't know. Dick, you're going to love this.” 

Cass grins. “We stole a ruby from a priestess.”

“And they bought Cass a prom dress with the money. And then Selina took Bruce to Ibiza with the leftover cash.”

“Who knew she was his sugar daddy,” Jason says, sounding thoughtful. Cass makes a face.

Dick glares at Jason. “The c _hildren_.” He hisses.

“Anyway,” Tim says, smoothly ignoring both of them, “how's Ryan, Cass?”

“Who's Ryan?” Jason says, interested.

“Cain's _boyfriend_.” Damian says, rolling his eyes.

“We broke up,” Cass says.

“Ah, crap, that sucks, Cass.” Dick says.

Cass shrugs. “It's okay. We had different goals. In life.”

“Thank god,” Damian says. “That boy was so nervous around us all the time I could _smell_ it.  It took at least three hours to air out the house after he  left.”

“That's not nice, Dami,” Dick says. Cass just shakes her head.

“Anyway,” Tim says. “Selina's okay. She's done cool stuff for all of us. So maybe this whole engagement isn't so bad.”

Dick leans against the door. “You guys remember that time Selina stole a diamond ring from the mayor's wife, when Bruce took her to that charity gala last summer?”

“Heh,” Jason says. “Yeah. I remember the look on his face when he found out, like two weeks later.”

“It was so awesome.” Tim says. “I think she stole the mayor's wallet, too. She took me and Steph out for Korean food with the cash.”

Cass smiles. “And she got back the leftovers for us.”

“Yeah, did Bruce know that the Pork bulgogi he was plowing through was bought with stolen taxpayer dollars? I don't think so.” Tim says.

Penny gives up on trying to get the door to open, and walks back over to Damian, stretching.

“You can tell Selina really loves him.” Dick says.

Five people (and a cat) are silent for a minute.

“I suppose,” Damian says, after a moment, “having her as my _technical_ step-mother won't be so bad.”

Another pause.

“But I'm never calling her that again.” He says.

Dick grins. “That's pretty mature of you, Damian.”

“Stop patronising me.” Damian says, but he looks pleased anyway.

Meanwhile, Tim has been trying to listen through the door. His eyes widen slightly. “I hear footsteps,” he says.

Five people, (and a cat) jerk away from the study door and scurry to the opposite side of the hallway. Dick begins to study his nails with intense concentration; Jason starts to whistle.

The door opens. 

Selina’s standing on the other side. They can't really see Bruce; he must be sitting at his desk, hidden from view from the doorway. Selina clears her throat. She looks uncertain, almost. Which is odd, because they've never seen her look nervous. She tries to go for a smile, pushing wayward strands of hair behind her ear with one slender hand.

Five people (and a cat) smile back. Well. Not the cat. The cat just licks its paws, bored.

“Hi,” Selina says, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

And they do.

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I'm lemonadegarden on Tumblr.  
> Drop a comment about what you thought, they really keep me writing!


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